


Mute By Choice: The Silent Wolf

by AvyJC15



Series: Mute By Choice [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apparating (Harry Potter), Best Friends, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Dark Past, F/M, First Time Shifting, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Gen, Ghosts, Magic, Mates, Muteness, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Platonic Relationships, Poltergeists, Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Shifters, Werewolves, Witches, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 169,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29378439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvyJC15/pseuds/AvyJC15
Summary: (REWRITE - Book I of Mute By Choice Series)Delilah Hawkins' life changes when she suddenly chooses to take the path that would lead her on a journey with fellow magic wielders Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. After enduring a horrible childhood and becoming mute because of it, will she finally be able to move past her tragic past?Will anyone find out who, or... what she really is?What is her true role in this path she has chosen to follow?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Mute By Choice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1093788
Kudos: 2





	1. Copyright

**Author's Note:**

> **ATTENTION** I DO NOT OWN ANY OF J.K. ROWLING'S ORIGINAL CHARACTERS FROM THE ORIGINAL HARRY POTTER. I ONLY OWN DELILAH, HER FAMILY, AND SOME OTHER OCs.

This book is a work of fiction. Original content and storyline is credited to the original author (J.K. Rowling), all else to the author of this fanfiction series. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.


	2. Author's Note

Hey, y'all,

So here is the rewrite for the first book of my Mute By Choice series. Took me quite some time to do over-- and I'm not even finished! You'll probably recognize some parts inspired by other stories from all and any genre. If you are versed enough in manga/anime stuff, or supernatural TV shows and/or movies, you may just recognize some particular names as well, though those will have different backstories than what you may be familiar with, that ties into the main plot and backstory linked to my fic.

The main plot and story has not changed from what it previously was, but I have added much more depth to what happens before time in Hogwarts, and a bit of everyday thoughts and stuff. Fair warning (possible spoiler, though not really...), there are also quite a few OCs that have been added, though I have done my best to do so as proportionately as possible.

I am open to any addition you may like, OCs and such. You will be credited, if I choose from your suggestions, though I do commend not many OP kind of characters. I already had to rework a lot on Delilah's character to make her a bit more relatable, and less fantastical and OPed as I had initially made her. There is still the whole shebang about her Hybrid...ism...ish thing. This will be, however, hinted at and explained from here on out, though gradually, as I am strongly against information dump, unless the situation demands it.

Do keep in mind, this story will eventually have ties to other stories prominent to magic and mythology, and supernatural stuff in general. There will be eventual crossovers, as you had already seen in my original, unfinished writing of my Goblet of Fire fic-- if you've read it. If you're a first timer here, well, than _spoiler!_ But not really... I will put on a poll for vote on whether I should leave my old versions on, or delete them after I've at least posted halfway through the second book.

Also, please keep in mind that I am working on quite a few other fics at the same time, rewrites and corrections, as well as my own originals I am looking to publish by this year, as I have had to make numerous delays due to other jobs and projects outside of storywriting.

On another note, to those who may have shown concern about a particular Narnia fic of mine, The Warrior _will_ be continued. I've just been so immersed in my supernatural writings, I've kind of procrastinated on my Narnia series. The first book in itself is far from over as I wanted to add quite some more before the kids go back to Kirke's boarding house. I am making corrections, though, and I will be posting the next chapters to it soon, after what I've finished of this book, and my Twilight stuff.

Anyway, folks, I leave you here, I hope you enjoy this new writing... beyond the very depressing beginning. Stay safe, remember to keep a safe distance, wear your masks when you leave the house, and take extra care of yourself.

Avy JC

P.S. Have a look at the new book cover I made!!! Took me a hell of a long time, but it was worth it. Let me know if you get each little thing on it, I'd like to hear your thoughts!


	3. Preface

_Magic is dangerous; it always comes with a price._

_You never know what the price is, but when you do_ _..._ _the idea bewilders you_ _..._

_Because sometimes— most of the time_ _..._ _the price is death..._


	4. 1 - Don't look back

**Anima Curatoria; Opal Creek, Oregon, US**

**March 2, 1981**

I watched.

I simply stood there and watched the roaring, burning strands of red and orange flicker and dance wildly as they took my home, the villa that was home to my pack fading into nothing but ruins and ashes.

 _Anima Curatoria_ would be no more. It was, now, just a matter of minutes before our territory met its end.

" _Aurelia!!_ "

That wasn't Mommy's first name, but it was one of them. Daddy was the only one to ever call her it though, so this was how I was able to recognize his voice over the alarming screams echoing through the night, his voice oddly much deeper than it usually was.

"Eben!"

Another sign as to why this situation was very... what was the word Jo— _Chance_ — had once said... oh. Dire. The situation was dire... whatever that means. Back to the case on point though; Mommy only ever called Daddy by his name whenever the situation was serious or... _dire_. Otherwise, she would call him a series of names I'd rather not repeat. Chance says they're not nice words, and good kids shouldn't go on repeating them.

"Aurelia, take her and run as fast as you can!" Daddy called out to her.

I might've been confused as to why this was all happening in the first place, but I didn't want to leave anyone behind. Not my brothers, not any of my other relatives, not mom or dad... not Jo... _Chance_ — my mate.

"Eben, _my_ sons are out there— I am _not_ leaving!" Mommy protested as she pulled me aside, trying to dodge the blazing embers and burnt pieces of wood that were flying about in the air.

"Daddy, come with us," I pleaded.

"I can't, sweetheart. I'm the alpha. I must stay behind, now go!" he shouted, pushing us towards the woods.

"Eben," Mommy called out his name warningly.

"I'll send them your way as soon as I can find them, Aurelia, but you can't stay here."

Mommy looked at him for a moment, before giving in. "Alright, but you better find them quickly."

My eyes widened in horror. "No! If you stay, then I will stay too!" I squeaked out as I tried to pull out of my mother's grip.

I didn't want to leave. I couldn't. Why? The answer was all in my veins— what makes an alpha.

Daddy smiled softly at me. "You truly carry the blood of an alpha. I'm proud of you, Lily," he said, kneeling down before me and scooping me up into his arms.

"I do not know what that is, but okay."

I was suddenly hit by a wave of some feeling I could only faintly remember feeling once before. I couldn't quite remember where or when, or why I'd felt it, but I didn't like it one bit, nor the fact that I could not even find a bit of comfort in Daddy's arms to wash that feeling away.

Unwilling to let go, I wound my arms around his thick neck as tightly as I could; it felt as though this would be the last time I would ever get to see him. I didn't like that feeling. I just wanted to lock it up in a cupboard and throw away the key, and _never look back_.

The next thing I knew, I was forced out of his arms and dragged out into the darkness of the forest, the wild flames licking at our houses and engulfing them within their jaws of inferno momentarily reaching toward us before they grew smaller and smaller the further away I was dragged, till they faded from my field of view as my eyes began to water, confusing me all the more. Why were my eyes watering? I hadn't fallen and gotten myself a boo-boo. As far as I knew, I hadn't undergone anything that should've resulted in any sort of pain.

And yet...

Holding my mother's hand, together, we kept running. It would have been faster if I had shifted, but I was still far too young. I felt bad; in this state, I was nothing but a burden. In this state, I'd practically forced Mommy out of this battle. In this state... I couldn't help but wonder why the he— _shoot_ had my brothers not come with us as well; they were not much older than I was. And, sure, they were boys, but the only one who'd managed to phase so far was _Nono_ , and that was just because he was an early bloomer, as Grandpa Admon had once said. Even as an "early bloomer," he was still no match against those dark wolf skin-wearers. He should be here with me, and so should _Jary_ and _Dev_.

We ran as fast as we could, but whatever happened next, happened too fast for my mind to even comprehend it. We were thrown into the air in different directions— Mommy was thrown into a bunch of bushes while I was thrown into a tree, hurting my right arm. I don't know how bad it was, all I knew was that it hurt whenever I'd try to move it after, and I could barely do so as it was. Seriously, this was a boo-boo worthy of eye-water, but I was much more worried about Mommy. She had a growing bump in her stomach. I didn't know what it meant, but she'd told me a while ago when I'd asked her about it that it was of utmost import... importenance... _importance_ that she didn't get a serious boo-boo for the next few months, otherwise she might lose whatever it was.

"Mommy!!" I called out to her, panicked.

Just as quickly as she'd fallen, she recovered and fought the wolf that had attacked us before it could call any more reinforcements, but it was too late; he had already howled. With one last punch, he fell unconscious but didn't phase back.

"Lilah, sweetheart, I need you to get out of here."

I looked up at her, wide-eyed. "What? No, Mommy, I could not possibly—"

"You listen to me, Lilah. You must go to our _Salvum Domus_. I need you to run there. Run as fast as you can, then run even faster than that. Don't look back, do you understand me?" Stubbornly, I shook my head as my eyes began to water more, even more so when she grabbed me firmly by the shoulders. "Do you understand me?"

The steely edge in her tone only made that feeling from before resurface with much more force. "Okay!" I uttered softly.

Eyes softening, she brushed some hair from my face as water welled up in her own eyes. "Whatever happens behind you, you keep going and get out of here, okay? Don't look back. Don't let them catch you," she said. "Do you understand me?"

I nodded, the water running from my eyes down my cheeks. "Don't look back," I echoed softly.

A droplet slid from her eye before she pulled me into her arms in which I couldn't help but grimace in pain caused by my broken arm. I tried as hard as I could to wrap my own arms around her, but I couldn't even lift my right arm. That feeling was attacking me as hard as those wolf skin-wearers and that blazing fire had run in head-on to our villa.

Just like with Daddy, it felt as though this would be the last time I would ever get to see her. I did _not_ like that feeling. I despised it. I wanted nothing more than to throw it far and hard into the sky, toward the stars where no one would be able to find it or reach it.

Where I wouldn't ever have to see or feel it _ever again_.

"I love you, my little dahlia... my beautiful flower," she whispered in my ear.

"I love you, Momma," I croaked.

She pressed her lips against my cheek before letting me go, and, suddenly, I felt cold.

"Now, go! Run!"

I wanted nothing more but to remain by her side. Nonetheless, I obeyed. She told me to run.

So, I did.

I ran.

I ran away from the other children's cries. I ran away from the battle we couldn't win. I ran away and let my mother, my father, my brothers... _Chance_ slip into the infernal flames of the underworld.

Running... I didn't know much about anything in the world, but I knew; running would be my greatest skill... and my greatest regret.

I continued as far and fast as I could, till my legs could carry me no more. It was too dark for me to see— my senses weren't enhanced yet, and it didn't take me long to realize by this point I wouldn't be able to get to our _Salvum Domus_. I knew of only one way to get there, and I'd been so focused on getting away, I'd strayed from the path that would lead me there.

I'd run far enough, though, so hopefully, there was a chance I was safe for now. Exhausted, I let myself fall onto the ground that was now mushy with mud caused by the rain I had only just realized was falling. I looked up at the bit of sky peeking through the tall trees and closed my eyes as I dug my fingers into the dirt beneath me.

I was done for; I couldn't run any further. I don't believe I wanted to either. It was odd; I'd always felt there was something missing within me, contrary to most others of my kind. We were soul-shifters. On many occasions, we more than our own soul occupying our bodies. At times, that of our ancestors, but mostly that of our animal guardians— animal spirits that had been a part of the tribe of the very first Dawn ancestors to become shifters.

But, as for me... I felt nothing of such. I felt... I felt. My head was so crowded, I almost feared I'd become one of those hunters I remember faintly hearing about. But my heart... my soul... it felt like there was a hole in my very being... ignoring the fact that I'd literally just plopped myself back into some random stick that pierced into my side in my own exhaustion.

This empt... iness made me wish there was some way— any way to end it. I would almost believe my prayers were being answered by our dear goddess of the moon upon feeling with suddenty all feeling leave my body. My limbs ignoring all commands from my mind, and that of all discomfort I felt all over as I was slowly being engulfed by darkness.

This time, though, I didn't fight it.

**Mountain sides; Battle Ax, Oregon, US**

**March 3, 1981**

It almost seemed like no time had passed at all before light suddenly shone upon my face, and I could see its redness through my closed lids. I waited for a moment longer, still, on the ground, before I allowed myself to open my eyes, still as a log as I slowly recalled the events from the previous night. I pushed myself up but let out a shriek upon feeling the searing pain shooting from both sides of my body.

Oh. Right. Broken arm and stick sticking from my side.

Grunting, I managed to drag myself to my feet and took a few, _painful_ , deep breaths before reaching back with my other arm and grabbing a hold of the stick. Teeth grinding against each other, I tugged at the branch and uttered another scream as it broke under my grip, the rest of it remaining embedded in my side.

 _Fu—_ I mean... erm... _shoot!_ Yeah... shoot that stup— crazy... erm... gun. Huh, now I get why Mommy used to say that. Those other words are _not_ nice words...

Grimace etched along my face, I glanced around for a moment, trying to make sense of my surroundings before turning left, which direction I hoped would lead me back to _Anima Curatoria_. _Anima Curatoria_... I always wondered why they'd named it after what we _supposedly_ are.

Mind set on my destination, I walked— _dragged_ — myself along the forest ground for a few minutes before the realization hit me: I actually have no idea how to get back. But then again, what would be the point in going back? I already know that no one will be there waiting for my return. They're all gone. I could feel it; last night before I'd passed out, I'd tried to meditate, despite all the boo-boos I'd gotten, expanding my mind in hopes of feeling anyone else through the pack's shared mind-link, but I felt nothing.

Not my parents, not my brothers... nothing.

Biting my lower lip, I made my decision. I don't care if I'm just a child, I look a little older than I really am— one of the perks of being a soul-shifter; I can easily pass myself off as someone else... no, I can't. I am the worst liar— I can't even lie to myself. Either way, I will not let that hinder me; I will march— _drag_ — in a new direction and start a new life.

Make a new pack if I have to, in honour of my family.

I wandered for a while, clutching my broken arm close to my side. The sun was rising higher in the sky and I honestly had no idea where I was or where I was heading. The plan had been for me to get to our _Salvum Domus_ — our safe-house. Had I made it there, I would've been able to find the road off to any other civilization, but with all the rain, fire and panic last night...

I shook my head and sighed before turning back, determined to head back to where I had ended up last night to start my path all over again. It took me a few moments to realize that, once again, I lost my sense of direction.

" _Shoot, shoot, crazy gun, shoot_ ," I muttered to myself repeatedly.

Repeating those words kept me distracted.

"Shoot," I said again before leaning against the tree, grimacing as the stick pierced into my side dug further in.

It was cold, but I felt hot. I wasn't in the best shape of my short life. I had been physically wounded many times ever since I learned how to walk; Daddy thought it would be a good idea to start learning how to fight as soon as I could walk and run. My boo-boos had been a little worse back then, but they were nothing open to the point where I could get infected with bacto... bact _e_ ria and get sick from.

Suddenly, I heard the snap of a branch and flipped around with a grunt, eyes widened with there would be a person but instead ran face-first into a mass of moon-silver fur.

"Wolf!" I choked out.

It was huge. It was, literally, the size of a horse, maybe bigger even. I was frozen in fear as it just stared at me with heterocmoecn eyes... hetero-something— his eyes were different colours, the right one being an emerald green, and the left one being a scary tanzanite-blue with a snowy white 'c' cursively ached into it.

They were as captivating as they were frightening, yet I did not look away, afraid it would attack me the moment I did like the others from last night.

I stayed still, but so did the wolf. I could hear a howl from the distance. I sensed it was calling the wolf. It took a step forward causing me to stumble back into the tree. My whole body pressed up against the tree and I couldn't help but grimace at the pain shooting through my broken arm. The wolf took two more steps toward me— a concerned look clouding its face, which slightly confused me— and then stopped as another howl broke through the forest. The wolf looked at me once more before running off.

I didn't wait to take off. I ran, offhandedly, as fast as I could in the opposite direction, the tree branches bashing against my shoulders but hardly causing me to slow down. My lungs hurt, my legs burned, and sweat dripped down the side of my face. I knew the wolf could catch up with me; I wasn't quite a runner in the state I was in now. But I kept running, my legs pumping, hoping to reach a town as soon as possible.

I ran for as long as I could. The sun now high in the sky and I had no clue as to where I was. I knew that in certain places like Portland or Seattle, you'd wander barely fifty miles before seeing a town. But here in Battle Ax, the terrain was just mountains on mountains with trees piling up on the land.

I wanted to move, but my legs were against me. I crumpled to the ground dying from the pain, my back slumping against a tree. I didn't even care if I wasn't fed, I just wanted the pain to go away. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and clutched it tight to my body, my eyes fluttering shut. The sun was shining ever so brightly, and I had no clue where I was. The cold edges of the tree scratched my back.

I must admit that for the first time ever, _I_ was _actually_ scared.

"Get up." My eyes flew open, startled and frightened. "You need to try harder than that," a voice came from the side.

I looked up and noticed it wasn't directed at me, but I didn't care. I was just excited that people were close. I got up slowly, my legs tired from the running. I could feel the tingles and lightness that comes after working hard. I pushed myself off the tree, stumbling my way towards the voice.

"I am!" another voice shouted back, though it was younger than the first one— a boy. It was a bit louder than the first, meaning I was getting closer.

"You aren't trying hard enough. Go again," the first voice said. He sounded older, like a man surely older than Daddy.

I picked up my pace a bit, the eagerness of being found being too much for me. All I could think about was being saved and healed.

"I'm trying, father," the second voice puffed through breaths. I could see a clearing; lights surrounded it, causing a glow that I couldn't miss.

"Try harder," the first voice said.

The light was getting brighter, and I could see that the trees were clearing out. As I got closer, I slowed down my pace, something about this scene created knots in my stomach, making me feel quite off.

"Fine," the young voice said.

As I got closer, I could see the outline of two people, each step revealing more detail than the last. It was dark, but they had lanterns in a circle surrounding the trees. They looked alike, and yet quite different from each other if you ignored the apparent age factor between them. The shorter, younger one was a boy about seven years old, if not a couple of years older. He had a hard look, with jet black hair and bulging with muscles— an odd sight for a child much like myself. The other looked like an older version of him, with cloudy gray and black hair. I could tell that they were related; father and son.

Again, I got that sense in my stomach that something was off with this picture. It was late and why were they in the middle of nowhere.

"Go," said the man.

I was close enough that I could hide behind a tree but still see them. The boy stepped back, staring at his father. He raised his fist, as the man just stood there. He made a yelling noise before he lunged at the man. The man took a step forward before kicking his son in the gut. He landed with a thump on the ground.

I stared at them, I had never been in a serious fight, nor had I ever even seen one except for last night, but even then, it was too dark for me to see. I could tell they were practicing, but it didn't look like the man was taking it easy on his son.

The boy jumped up, lunging forward again and managed to land a punch before the man backhanded him.

"Is this how you are planning on becoming an alpha in a few years?!" the man shouted at his son. "By being weak and pathetic?"

The boy glared up at his dad. He took a step to the side, but the man didn't move.

"I will become Alpha!" the boy shouted.

"Really?" the man replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

Wait a minute... _alpha_? Shoot. If they aren't what I think they are, then I have no idea what they could be, but either way, I seriously have to get out of here, _now_.

The boy took a step back before taking a running start at the man. He jumped in the air, arms first. I felt a buzz in the air and looked on, astonished and bewildered, to see that the man was wrestling with a wolf. A giant brown wolf was pinning the man down.

_Shoot, shoot, crazy gun, shoot! Werewolf incoming!_

I slowly stepped back a couple of steps, snapping a twig under my foot. I froze and cursed under my breath— funny for a two-year-old to do so, but I've heard some colourful words in my two years of life— noticing that the wolf and the man were both looking in my direction. I stopped breathing and instantly took off in the direction I came from, ignoring the pain shooting through my injured arm. I could hear the thumps of feet and paws against the leaves, louder with each step.

I didn't make it far, the father and son quickly caught up to me. I felt a pressure on my broken arm as the air rushes around me and I let out an ear-piercing scream before growling and quickly clutching it to my side. I heard a crunch before I felt the pain in my back. The sticks under me broke into sharp sticks stabbing into my stomach. The tree behind me had a faint crack in it.

"What do we have here?" the man said, his cloudy gray eyes glaring down at me. The wolf, in turn, started to lose his fur as the boy turned backs to his human self. A naked human self.

"A lost traveller," said the boy, smirking at me, his eyes the same cloudy gray as the man's.

I tried to crawl away, but before I made it anywhere the man grabbed me by the neck, lifting me against a tree, making me yelp in pain as my arm hit the tree and my feet dangled high above the ground. I tried to kick him into letting me go, but he slammed me into the tree, bringing small stars to my eyes.

"In this neck of the woods?" the man said, showing the same smirk as the son.

"Such a shame," the boy replied, making me growl at them. They looked at me in surprise, but that look only lasted for a second.

I was now trying to claw away at the man's hand. It was tight and painful but at least I was able to breathe. I kept trying to get away even though I knew it was useless. He was in control.

"Anybody looking for you?" the man asked.

I merely glared up at the man; I didn't have to tell him anything.

"And don't you even think about lying," the boy sneered.

For a moment, I frowned before turning to glare at him. "Why would I lie? I have been lost here since last night's attack on my home by your kind," I sneered back at him as I finally managed to tug myself away from his dad's grip. I clutched my neck but then let out a hiss as I remembered my broken arm.

"Don't be stupid," the man said, completely ignoring me as the smirk fell from the son's face. "Of course she'll lie; either way, I don't doubt it'll be a while before they notice her missing— days, weeks, maybe even months."

Water began to fill my eyes at his words, but I kept a cold face directed at them. "What would you know?" I hissed, catching their attention. "It matters not if you found me alone out here; you take me, and you will have many coming after you. I am _not_ alone."

The man scoffed, a smirk curling onto his lips. "Is that a threat, Missy?"

"I do not make threats," I retorted. "I make promises."

The man gave a sadistic chuckle. "Sure, you do. But whatever promise you intend to keep, will not last very long. You'll die before you plan anything. In the meantime, however... what shall I do with you?"

"Jennie died last month," the boy chimed in, shrugging with an odd smile that made me shudder in discomfort.

"Was it you or Lessie that killed her?" My eyes widened at this.

The boy shrugged once more. "She... _fell_ ," he uttered humorously before laughing.

The man rolled his eyes. "Like the one before her?" He, too, had a humorous tone. "She will be for your sister then."

"She always gets the human," the boy complained, his shoulder dropping in disappointment.

"Relax, Axel. It isn't like the family can't use her as well," the man said.

"Human? Your senses are clearly not well enhanced, mongrel," I muttered under my breath.

"No talking unless spoken to," the man ordered.

I raised an eyebrow at him. No one orders an alpha around; that is against every natural law.

"We're werewolves, sweetie," Axel said, a smirk dancing on his lips.

"And I am a fairy," I retorted, rolling my eyes. "I know you are a werewolf. For one, your wet-dog scent gives you away. For two, you just phased back and forth in front of me."

"Shut it, Axel," the man said before looking at me straight in the eyes. "And you, don't talk unless spoken to," he repeated.

"I _was_ spoken to," I deadpanned.

"Don't talk back to me, you little smart-mouth," he growled.

Axel sighed. "Dad, it's... whatever. Who is she going to tell anyway? The gods? Like they'd listen to trash."

My mouth dropped open, utterly offended. How dare he?!

"Fine." The father pushed, making me fall to the ground clutching at my arm and taking deep breaths. "Take her back to the house, I'll grab the lights. Another practice wasted," he said, muttering the last three words before walking back to where he came from.

"Aren't you a pretty one?" Axel asked as he came closer. I backed up, once again feeling the bark of the tree scratching into my back.

"Oh, and Axel, no horsing around. Make sure she lasts the week," the man added.

"Don't worry, Dad. I think she will be around for a long while."

Axel stepped immediately in front of me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. I stared into his eyes, seeing the same eyes as the father's, but slightly softer.

"Come on," he said, dropping her chin. I didn't move. I was frozen in fear and wounded.

He rolled his eyes. "I said, come on!" he barked impatiently, pulling me up and throwing me over his shoulder. I whimpered in pain.

He froze and put me back down. He studied me, with concern clouding his face. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

I gave him a look of disbelief; did he not see the state of the utter wreck I was in when he gave me multiple one-overs with his perverse gaze?! My eyes then narrowed into a deadpanning glare as I clenched my jaw, not feeling like answering to him. He then sighed and picked me up bridal style. I shrieked in pain as my arm got squeezed between his chest and my side and he gripped hard at my other side through which the broken tree branch was still embedded.

"Shut her up," the man shouted from the trees as I whimpered in pain.

Axel sighed. "Shut up," he whispered.

"Put her in the attic," was the last thing I heard before darkness gained on me yet again.

**Oberg Mountain; Tofte, Minnesota, US**

**April 9, 1987**

It was a wonder I had yet to lose my sanity; the next six years of my life I spent as a slave, ordered around by the Adams, living in their attic like a rat. I looked a little more my age now since my growing genes had finally begun to slow. It seemed, however, I'd still reached that age when breasts begin to grow on a girl's chest... I thought that was later... I _hoped_ that was _much_ later since Axel just wouldn't keep his eyes off them... I hate that boy.

The Adams were, perhaps, the worst family anyone could ever come across. There are five of them. There's Christophe, who is the father, husband, and man of the house. Then, comes his wife, Alvah. Then, of course, we have the kids, Axel being the eldest who is now fourteen, Alessia being the second eldest is now twelve, and Annabelle being now the youngest is eight as well. They had a younger brother, Elliot, but, unfortunately, he did not make it past the age of one.

Out of all of them, the only ones I respect are Alessia and Annabelle. Mostly Annabelle because she takes care of me and stops the others from hurting me. Alessia beats me up when we're in front of her dad, but the moment he leaves, she apologizes and heals me. Axel... he had my respect the first few days, but as time went by, he grew cockier before ending up as a total jerk and a pervert. I even lost count of the many times he tried to rape me. Alvah... she is just an evil _bitch_! Pardon my language, but it's true... I mean she is a werewolf... She's never satisfied with what I do, even when I do it exactly as she tells me to do it.

Like last year, when she made me prepare tons of things for Alessia's eleventh birthday. Alvah was ordering me around and Axel was being his usual cocky self, trying to... " _get_ me" as he so _kindly_ put it.

~ ♦ ~

_It took all day to clean the place, especially after I tried to run away, again. They locked all the doors. And the windows were unbreakable, I found out about that after I tried to throw a chair at the kitchen window. It bounced back slamming into my stomach. I crawled out from under it, staring at the window. Not even a scratch._

_Stupid new house; the Adams had purchased a slightly bigger house far from Battle Ax, where they'd_ _been living originally after their pack had chosen to migrate. The lack of escape in this place wasn't_ _the only thing that irritated me, more so the fact that we were far from my home. Albeit, I had no doubt by now it was truly gone, but back in Battle Ax, chances of escape were less slim than they were now. I could've_ _made it back to Anima Curatoria in five to six hours, maybe even four if I ran with all my might. What I would_ ' _ve done if I_ ' _d made it, I had no idea, but now it was official; I was stuck here._

_"You can't_ _escape."_

_Those were Axel_ ' _s favourite words. He would repeat them over and over any chance he got, and the day of his sister_ ' _s birthday was no exception. I_ _'_ _d been so scared out of my mind, trying, in vain, to find a way out, and he seemed to find some sort of fun in that sick mind of his, chasing me around the household. I_ ' _d tired myself out by the time he'd entered the kitchen, and froze in place, breathing deeply through my nose. Throwing a chair was easy for me but doing it multiple times was wearing me out, especially after running around the house for nearly an hour._

 _"We made this place impossible to escape for humans," Axel said. And there he goes again, calling me a human. Shoot, I guess the only ones who will ever understand that I'm not human will always be_ _Alessia_ _and Annabelle._

_I just stared at him, my eyes narrowed, watching him pour juice into a glass. He walked over to me, I stepped back into the smooth window. He kept stepping forward an inch or two away from my face. He brought his hand up wiping away some of the sweat on my face._

_"Might want to get back to work. Mom doesn't_ _like it when you slack off," Axel said, bringing his hand down to give her behind a squeeze._

_I tried to shove him away, but he sidestepped me, dropping his juice to the floor, the glass shattering. I tensed up as he grabbed both of my wrists, pressing me up against the window._

_"I like them feisty," Axel said into my ear before_ _clumsily_ _crashing his lips_ _against_ _mine._

_His movements were, altogether, clumsy as his lips barely covered mine wholly, but, much like being within the same room as him, I felt very dirty and disgusted by his touch;_ _I tried to fight_ _back and pull away, but he merely_ _bit my_ _lower lip and tightened his hold on me, preventing me from getting away._

_"She has work to do. You can play with her later," Alvah said walking into the room._

_I grimaced in discomfort and utter disgust as Axel licked my lips before dropping my wrists and giving my behind one more squeeze before sauntering off. I had to fight the urge to bleach my lips_ _to remove his foul taste_ _since Alvah was standing right there._

_"Clean up this mess and no more slacking off, worthless," Alvah ordered, staying where she was to make sure I got the job done._

_First, I had to find the cleaning supplies while Alvah sat at the counter drinking wine and reading her novel. The supplies were in a side cabinet near the kitchen, although that was too much information for Alvah to provide. The cleaning took a while, but most of the day was spent on the preparation of the cake._

_As I worked in the kitchen, I noticed it was getting late and I was only halfway through decorating the cake. I used pink and blue food-dye to make the frosting a light purple, and I managed to make a pyramid-looking cake with three layers. I was impressed even for me._ _Suddenly my face was drowning in a cold and sugary cream. My eyes started to burn. I stood up wiping frosting from my eyes, flinging cake to the floor._

 _"What is this? I told you this is her eleventh birthday and you provide this crap for her? She isn't four," Alvah said. "Start over and don_ ' _t give me this crap."_

_I walked over to the sink, trying to wash away the frosting from my hair and face._

_"Is she done yet? I don_ ' _t want the guest to see her like this,"_ _Alessia_ _said, concern written all over her face and voice as she ran into the kitchen. The sun had set, and it was getting late._

_"She is finishing up. Blame your father for bringing home a stupid one," Alvah replied._

_"Relax, Allie. It_ ' _s just a stupid birthday," Axel says walking into the room._

_I tensed as I felt his presence, feeling him getting closer, but I didn't want to stop frosting the cake. This one took me twice as long as the first one, Alvah criticizing me the whole time._

_"A girl's_ _s birthday is never_ _"_ _just a birthday,_ _"_ _" she objected. "It's the celebration of she who will carry the next heir of the family. Also, I think_ _Jace_ _will finally ask me out. I just know it."_

_... ask her out? But isn't_ _the party already happening outside?_

_"Sure, he will." I heard a long drip in his tone_ _of something I could not decode_ _as he rolled his eyes at his sister. "Either way, it doesn't matter," he waved off the offended look on_ Alessia's _face. "Because I will be the Alpha soon. Take pride in that."_

_Axel walked over to the cake, one hand squeezing my behind, the other hand swiping some frosting from the cake._

_"Tasty," he whispered into my ear._

_A shudder rippled down my back as he_ _pressed his lips to_ _my neck._

_"Of course, he will ask you out," Annabelle said, walking into the kitchen._

_"Stop kissing ass, Annabelle. You still aren't_ _invited to the party. I told you before. No losers allowed,"_ _Alessia_ _teased._

_"Oh, shut up. You know I am," Annabelle replied, playfully nudging her sister._

_Alessia_ _giggled before her eyes widened in shock. "Oh my god, I think people are arriving. Get rid of her clothing and give her something else to put on," she said, pointing at me._

_"I will do it," Axel said, smirking while wrapping an arm around my waist and_ _trailing his lips_ _up and down my neck._

_"No, Axel,"_ _Alessia_ _said quickly. "Um_ _..._ _you go greet the people. Annabelle, clean her up and give her something new to we—"_

 _"No, Annabelle, take her up to her room and lock her up," Alvah said, cutting_ _Alessia_ _off._

_Both sisters gave me apologetic looks before I made my way up to my room._

~ ♦ ~

**April 21, 1988**

So Axel had grown into a fifteen-year-old pervert and Alvah was a she-beast, but no one surpassed the man of this house. He would beat me till I'd nearly lose my breath, most of the time, but he would go way beyond beating at other times. And when he would do it, it would always be at night in my room. Every time it's always the same, yet it's still hard to get used to it. My room was not big; it was as big a cell would be, I imagine; something like two by two meters.

The perfect place to be tortured, presently as I had been in the past seven years.

One afternoon, I was sat in my room, on the edge of my bed, gazing down at my trembling hands. It'd been an excruciatingly long day of work, with Alvah purposefully adding stuff to do every twenty to thirty minutes. As soon as I was done, I had rushed to the attic and tried to rest as much as I could, under such circumstances. It'd been barely a few dozen minutes before someone entered my room.

Looking up, I froze instantly in my place, unable to push myself to even stand. I was afraid and confused. I wished to speak and wanted to say anything but, because I hadn't spoken in such a long time, my voice could only come out strangled in a string of stutters.

"W-wh-a-are—"

"I always get what I want," he started, grabbing me by my wrists and pinning me down on my bed.

"Wh—"

"And right now, I want you," he said in a dark, low voice as he tightened his grip.

 _What was he going to do to me?_ He started to take my shirt off, and that's when I understood. I resumed my struggle and attempts to get away, but it was no use, he was just too strong for my current state. He was in control.

"N-n-p-pl—"

He wouldn't stop. He started to unbutton my shorts. Soon enough, my shirt was off, and I was now in my very worn bandage-wrap I had wound around my chest as he kept trying to unbutton my shorts. He cursed under his breath as he couldn't get it to open. Sighing, he left it at that and grabbed my wrist once again. Desperate, I looked around for the perfect opening, but could not find one; it was like the word "escape" bore no existence in this perimeter.

With fearful eyes, I looked up and locked gazes with my captor, shuddering in all my fright as he smirked that nasty smirk of his at me upon looking at my half-naked body.

Though, admittedly, there wasn't much I knew about... well, anything, I could never even fathom there would be such thing as this sick perversion this boy above me exerted. I understood he would have certain... _urges_ — this was something I'd caught on very early on in my life, but... having these urges for a _child_? I couldn't decide whether this was some genetic trait shared among werewolves or just Axel's sick mind.

"Scars and bruises aren't enough to cover up such a beauty," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy.

It's decided; Axel is just... sick.

I tried to wriggle my way out again, but I couldn't move anymore the moment he clumsily crashed his lips against mine, my lower lip caught between both of his, much like the last time. I began to shake my head; I didn't want this. He might want... whatever it is his sick mind desires, but I don't want anything to do with him.

I had a mate. Yes, perhaps he'd perished along with the rest of _Anima Curatoria_ , but even so, I was taught that loyalty was the best trait, among valour and leadership, of an alpha. My dream had been that one day I may be, but now... it didn't matter if I no longer had a pack, nor if I maybe ever will— my morals, beliefs... they were a reminder of what I once had.

A happy life.

Could I truly let go of what I lost? Of the hope that one day, I may just have an ounce of it back? No. I couldn't. If so were otherwise, I wouldn't be alive today.

Jaw clenched, lips shut in a tight line, I locked gazes once more with that of my captor as he momentarily pulled away, my eyes steeling with an internal fury I had kept myself from feeling over the years.

 _Today will not be the day I_ die _._

For a moment, my struggles ceased, and so did his attempts, but just when he was about to resume what seemed to bring him peace of mind, he was blasted away from me, against the far wall at the other end of the attic that was my room, a faint trail of purple mist trailing along the path he'd been flung over. Quickly, I pushed myself up, my eyes tearing away from the boy I disliked so much the instant I smelled Alessia and Annabelle entering the room, both looking shocked at the sight, and clearly angry upon taking notice of my dishevelled state.

"AXEL! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG IN THAT FUCKED UP SKULL OF YOURS?!" Alessia shrieked, marching straight toward him and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him out of the room as Annabelle raced over to me.

"Oh, my God. Are you okay?"

Despite what had just transpired, I could not help but give her the most deadpanning look I'd ever given anyone.

"..."

I couldn't speak anymore. Was it possible that I had forgotten how to? Though I had spent much more time not speaking, as compared to the time frame of nearly over a year I'd spent speaking rather fluently after I'd learned to talk, I doubted I could just forget how to. Memory was the most prominent imprint in the brain of a shifter, more so that of a soul-shifter as we, more oft than not, have more than one soul. None of my kind can ever really forget something so integrated into our brain unless one of us is born with a certain disability that cannot be learned out of.

... so _what_ the heck has _happened_ to _me_?

Alessia watched me a moment longer, biting her lower lip before her lips parted as she was about to say something, though before she could add anything else, Alvah was calling her to go downstairs. I shakily nodded at her to go as she gave me an apologetic look before rushing over to the door.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll try to make it up to you." With that said, she sent me a small smile before walking out and shutting the door behind her, leaving me to myself.

Sighing, I grabbed my shirt and offhandedly put it back on before wobbling my way over to my bed, tiredly plopping onto its edge before simply dropping my gaze to stare down at my hands, still very shaken about what had just occurred.

It was but a few minutes before I felt someone enter my room once again. Feeling numb from the inside out, I lifted my gaze only to stare back at the one other person I truly hated— the man of the house— and see him standing there, by the doorway, the door closed behind him, with his left hand curled up into a fist and the other holding a knife. I swallowed hard and instinctively gripped onto the edge of my bed and started moving backwards as I looked at Christophe. I looked down at myself and gave one glance at my beaten-up clothes— my shorts pretty ripped up and my shirt with holes in it covered in dried _stains_ — before looking back up at him.

I knew _exactly_ what was coming.

"You little brat," he growled as he gradually advanced toward me. "You filthy piece of trash, why don't you understand? There. Is. No. Escape."

There was a final punctuation after each word— short and on point, just like every other thing he ever said. Always an emphasis to his words to pull his point across. It seems I was too stubborn, however, to stay put as he wished; every time he came, the second I heard him, smelled him—saw the killing intent in his eyes, I just _had to_ get away.

"You're not getting away, so come back here so I can finish with you," he said, anger in his voice.

Breathing heavily, I looked down, again, at my upper arms and saw the scars that I have sustained through the years I had spent here and had to go through the same torture, over and over again. My breathing hitched as he came nearer again and held me by my waist.

_"NO!! PLEASE!!"_

I wanted to shout, but my lips wouldn't move. I wanted to start screaming but I knew that no one would come for me nor hear me because this room was just so conveniently soundproof. If Alessia and Annabelle came earlier just in time before Axel went any further, it was but a mere coincidence. But now, it was as he said; _there is no escape._

He turned my body around in one fluid move and he sat on my thighs, he slipped my shorts off till I was left in my underwear and he started cutting with a sharp knife in the small of my back. I knew that he was writing another word, but I couldn't make out the letters because of two reasons— one, the letters were too small and two it hurts so much that I couldn't think about anything else than the pain. I screamed and wriggled to come out of his grasp, but he held my arms just above where he was cutting with the knife and my body didn't even move an inch.

I was screaming and was surprised that his ears didn't start bleeding he shook me, probably to shut me up. My eyes would sometimes water, but I'd never seemed able to shed it. Ever since I came into that night, that was always the case; I just wasn't able to. But it was a perk of mine, because if I was able to, well let's just say I would be hoping I didn't in the moments I'm being tortured because I know that he wouldn't appreciate that and would only beat me up more. I have to be completely still... wait I have to be completely still. I stood still, not wriggling or screaming anymore, I bit my lip and shut my eyes tightly and counted every second that passed as I waited for it to be over and for the darkness to take over me as it usually does...

**May 15, 1988**

Today was the day Axel would be fighting for the title of alpha against some guy named Jace. I know it's not nice to think this way, but I seriously hope he doesn't make it back.

I had my doubts, though, since I've seen him train practically every day since I've met him, seven years ago. And well, other than that... he's got Christophe for a father. The man has trained Axel every day, always pushing him to his limits and beyond. And there's also the fact that when Christophe had to show Axel a move... he would use me, making it easier for Axel to see what is going on.

I was Axel's personal training dummy. Always there when he was taught a new move, then practiced on for the next week straight. I hated it, but Axel seemed to love it being able to be so close to me and being able to wrap his body around me.

It was disgusting.

"Remember, you can't kill him; Jace is my mate," Alessia said.

"Oooh, is that why he hasn't marked you yet? And I promise I won't kill him; I want him to see me rule what his family built up."

"And what if he wins?" Alessia said.

I couldn't see her face since I was busy doing the dishes, but I could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

"Bitch, way to support your family," Axel retorted.

"He _is_ my mate; I love him. So yes, I do wish him best," Alessia said.

"Oh, just shut up, this is what I've been training for my whole life. I _will_ win," Axel said.

I wasn't paying much attention, just thinking dab, circle, circle, and repeat. I did feel when Axel's hand landed on my behind. _Ugh._

"Isn't that great? When I become Alpha, nobody can stop me from having what's mine," Axel whispered in my ear.

"Leave her alone, Axel," Alessia hissed at him. "Don't you dare go putting your dirty hands all over her body."

I noticed the weird look he gave her from the corner of my eye, and she was quick to brush him off nonchalantly.

She shrugged and quickly said, "I don't see why you like the _human_ so much."

He started by pressing his lips against my jaw, his hand roaming under my shirt, making me grit my teeth as he almost reached my breasts. I hadn't had any change of clothes in the past four years. It was getting smaller, but it still fit me since I had grown thin from malnutrition. They do let me clean it every Sunday, so I don't start smelling up the place, but the clothes I have now are torn with bleach stains covering most of the front, along with some _red_ stains I couldn't get rid of.

"I don't know either, but something about her makes me want her," Axel said, biting down on my ear as I just gulped but continued doing my work, not looking up.

"Hey bro, how about we go warm up a bit before the big fight," Annabelle said, dragging her brother away.

I was about to smile a bit but didn't because I knew soon Annabelle wouldn't be able to be there for me.

"Axel always gets what he wants," Alessia said, frowning.

She came up to me and leaned against the counter, looking at the door.

"We'll be gone for a while," she started, reaching for something in her pocket.

She brought out a little thing resembling a small jewelry box that she put in the pocket of my shorts. I glanced up at her questioningly.

"Your people have suffered enough to last hundreds of lifetimes."

Her words startled me; did she know? Did she know I was not human?

" _Anima Curatoria_ ," she uttered softly, a distant look glazing over her eyes. "I bet it was a beautiful place. And my people... we wrecked it. Just like our ancestors before us." She looked at me with watering eyes. "I know nothing I say could ever change what's happened. I know I can't bring back what you lost. But I can give you what you deserve."

For a moment, I was struck deeper into my silence when it suddenly occurred to me that Alessia may have known much more than she ever let on. The rest of the Adams had been utterly clueless, it seems, as to where I came from and what I was. Christophe and Axel—both with dreams of dictating their pack couldn't even pick up on what I'd been through and what I was upon meeting me. But Alessia...?

Momentarily glancing away to wipe her eyes, Alessia spoke once more, her voice barely above a whisper. "While we're gone, I want you to run and never look back."

Her words struck me once more, throwing me back to _that_ night, the words echoing in my head.

 _Don_ ' _t look back._

I blinked when I felt Alessia's burning hand turn my face till our eyes met once more. "Never come back. We've made you suffer enough for no reason at all," she said.

My lips parted, and the urge to speak suddenly surged within me, yet no sound could escape my mouth.

"Please, Kala," she pleaded softly, her hand resting gently against my cheek. "I'm going to miss you because you are honestly the first and only _best_ friend I've ever had other than my sister. But it's not fair for me to want to keep you here when you are suffering."

My eyes fluttered as my vision blurred, and I noticed her watering eyes were now pouring.

"You deserve your freedom," she said in a trembling voice. "I know that after what happened to your family and what my own have done to you, there will never be another place like your true home, but I want you to be free."

I blinked, gazing down curiously as she reached down to grasp my hand and held it open, palm facing up.

"Here," she said, placing a cold, small object on the palm of my hand. "Maybe this will help you further down the line."

The object was small, round and gold— a thin tiny plate in my hand, barely the size of a ring, of which's colour brought me a very small sense of comfort. Why could that be? Gold held no value to me. And yet, looking at it, something akin to sadness mixed with a tad bit of comfort warmed my insides as I looked at the item resting in my hand. What was it? I could feel a pattern on the side touching my skin, but it didn't match the one I could see, facing up. Reaching over once more, she flipped the item over in my palm, and I admired it, mouth agape, startled by such detail being able to be engraved into such a small thing.

"When you're on your own, and you're caught between where to go or what you want... you can decide by flipping this coin."

Coin? Is that what this is?

"There's no particular symbolism behind the whole heads or tails thing, at least not that I know of... but it helps when you have two very opposing decisions to choose from."

On one side, there was a man sitting on something that looked like a stone, something akin to a pyramid or a volcano further back in the background. On the other side, there was a bird— an eagle??— standing atop something that looked like a flag, but clearly wasn't based on its shape, wings spread. Below this engraving, the year 1944 was etched along the far bottom, smaller than the rest of the writing I was having a bit of a hard time deciphering. My reading skills were not the best. I could write, though when it comes down to reading, I'm a bit slow, but, well, I guess... circumstances...

"My grandmother gave me this, little before she passed away a few years ago. It saved her life one day, when she was held prisoner during the Second World War. She said the man holding her hostage was compromised and didn't fully agree with his own people. He wasn't sure whether he should follow what he didn't believe in, or follow his heart. So he flipped the coin, and, well," she smiled slightly, "I guess you can figure out the rest from there; I wouldn't be here otherwise." Her brows furrowed then as her face contorted into a grimace. "Though, in hindsight, using this to determine whether you should propose to someone or kill them may not be the way to go..."

Shaking her head to herself, she smiled back down at me, lips quivering slightly as she curled my fingers around the coin and squeezed my hand ever so slightly. "As long as it's given a chance, a person's soul will open up, so don't worry. When you find your other half someday... when you fall in love, you'll change, too, Kala. I can almost guarantee you'll even be happier than any of us were in this dump."

I blinked, baffled. _Fall... in love...?_

I was struck with surprise, yet again, upon her suddenly pressing her lips against my forehead before she pulled away and gave me one last smile before running out of the house. For a moment, I remained there, unmoving, staring at the door she'd walked out through, hand fisted around the... coin. Suddenly, I blinked when I felt something wet slip from my eye, and yet again, I was startled.

Shaking my head, I stuffed the little thing in my pocket and went back to work. For the next hour or so, I cleaned the kitchen sink, then moved on to Alessia's room, then Axel's, and then Annabelle's room, which hers and her sister's just needed a vacuuming, while the Axel's looked like a tornado hit it. I waited for them to leave for the fight before I started their rooms; I didn't want them to be annoyed with me being around.

Once I was done with that, I started dinner, but none were back yet. I wasn't sure if I should do as Alessia had told me. It was a full moon, and normally, they didn't come home for the night, deciding to run around the woods. I packed dinner at eight, knowing if it is this late, they won't be coming home for the night. I walked up the stairs preparing to clean the office; I could put it off until tomorrow, but after a full moon, the family is always extra hungry, and breakfast takes extra-long.

I entered the room, grabbing my cleaning basket on the way. I took a moment to examine the window; it's huge, displaying the whole forest. The trees were at a distance but not that far, the moonlight making the droplets of water shine off them.

It was beautiful, breathtaking, and I loved it.

I'd take some nights off and just sit in this room, thinking of a different world. One where I was never captured and got to go to a school and... learn, another plot that runs into my mind is a dashing prince, like in those stories Aunt A— I blinked, brows furrowing in absolute puzzlement. Aunt— I frowned, pondering this oddity before my mind reflexively skimmed over the detail. I tried to go back on what I was thinking, but I just thought of that dashing prince, like in those stories I was told so long ago, coming and saving me, all of them ending with me out of this hole I could compare to Tartarus.

I was startled out of my thoughts when I suddenly felt something cold in my hand. I glanced down and was surprised to find myself holding the coin I'd been given earlier; I hadn't even realized I'd taken it out of my pocket. I stared at it for a long minute before shifting my gaze back out the window, longingly. Biting the inside of my cheek, I carefully placed my cleaning basket unto the floor and inched over to the window, basking in the sudden comfort the moonlight brought as it shone down upon me; it was particularly brighter tonight, lighting up the whole room that I hadn't even bothered turning on the lights when I'd entered.

Tentatively gazing down at the coin once more, I remained still for another two seconds before launching the small thing high into the air in a stroke of impulsiveness. For a moment, I was scared I might not catch it, and it would fall and roll into some crack I wouldn't be able to get it out of; this was one of the only two gifts I had ever received— I did not want to lose it. Calming my frantic heart, if only by a slightest bit, I caught it with surprising ease, straight center into the palm of my right hand, instinctively curling my thin fingers around it, arm trembling as it remained suspended in the air.

 _"_ _You deserve your freedom_ _."_

My arm dropped to my side, gaze dropping along with it, fixing on the windowsill.

 _Deserve freedom_... Do I really? Things happen for a reason, or so Mom used to say. I must've done something really bad for all of this to happen to me. So... what do I truly deserve?

 _"_ _I want you to be free."_

So do I. My entire life, all I've ever wanted was two things, though now one more than ever. My family... it's been so long. I haven't _felt_ them since that night, which could only mean one thing. But I never wanted that one thing to be why I give up. If I were to give myself up to anything, it would be Death, because Death is inevitable. Not... _this_. No, I want...

I _want_ to be _free_ , whether I deserve it or not. But how can I get there?

_"When you're on your own, and you're caught between where to go or what you want... you can decide by flipping this coin."_

I blinked, my slightly blurred vision clearing slightly as I looked down at my hand and stared at it for a moment before lifting it up, my free hand following suit. Placing my closed fist atop my other hand, both facing down, I took the first step toward making a decision.

Heads or tails... freedom or...

Swallowing hard, I dropped the coin unto the back of my left hand and slowly lifted my right hand away, stopping short for a second before finally pulling away completely, taking a daring look down at my response when I s—

Suddenly, I heard a slam downstairs, and my hands flew into action, shoving the coin back into my pocket before snatching the duster from the cleaning basket and passing it around with a tight grip. It seems somebody forgot something before they decided to go for the run. I didn't really know what they needed, but I was guessing a second pair of clothes. Throat suddenly feeling dry and tight, I reflexively tightened my grip on the duster and continued my way to the bookcase.

"What are you doing up here?" a voice called out from the doorway.

My breath got caught up in my throat; it was Axel in the doorway. I hated being in a room alone with him, but now the whole house?

I didn't respond. I wasn't allowed to talk. That's why I haven't spoken a word in the past seven years. I continued to clean the books, not looking away.

"Turn around," his voice sounded pissed, and, by my guess, he didn't win the Alpha fight.

I slowly turned around, keeping my eyes on the floor.

"I don't know why I want you, but there is something about you. Look at me," Axel ordered.

My breath quickened as I looked up to find him standing right in front of me. He had scratches across his face, blue and black covering the skin showing. Be it wrong of me to think this way or not, I honestly didn't care. I just relished in the thrill of seeing him hurt in any way,

"I might not have won Alpha, but you will still be mine," he bellowed.

I didn't even think when I grabbed my bleach, spraying Axel in the eyes. He growled, rubbing his eyes but shoved me onto the ground, clearly with no intention of letting me get away. I tried to start screaming, but no sound came out of my mouth. I knew this would happen, but it was one of the things that I wished never did.

"Shut up," Axel growled.

He hit me, but it wasn't hard enough to knock me out. He was now on top of me, straddling me, my hands caught in his. I kept on trying to scream, wiggling away from him. Axel was starting to get angry; I could see it in his gray eyes.

"Please," I tried to say, but nothing came out.

I wanted to ball my eyes out, but the darn waterworks wouldn't come out. I stopped for a second, throwing him off guard. It was enough for me to throw myself to the side, getting about a foot away from him before I felt the most painful thing in the world. I looked at my side to see Axel crouched over me with his teeth biting into my side.

"You will be mine," he hissed.

I didn't know _specifically_ what was coming. When he grabbed me, though, and threw me on my back, I knew I would only feel pain. This awareness only came to light alarming, so as I suddenly uttered an ear-piercing scream as I felt his canine teeth piercing into my skin as he bit hard into my neck. I could feel _it_ ; it was oozing out of my side and neck, my back screaming in pain from the scratch of his nails. I wanted to blackout, to pass out like I normally did when I start to feel a bit of pain, but my mind wouldn't let me let go. I could feel his claws scratching against my stomach. A second later, my shirt was ripped up more than it was before.

I screamed, and my throat burned as the sound whisked through and out my chapped lips; I knew nobody was coming for me, though.

Not in this house.

I was confused and utterly baffled, despite my immense pain, when his boy-part suddenly penetrated the part where urine escapes a girl's body in time of toilet-needs. I could feel the droplets falling from my eyes as his fingers dug into my skin as he pulled a bit out, then thrust right back in with a force I felt could almost break me in half if he tried.

Though my mind was beginning to fade in oblivion, I felt it all as a warranted disgust began to spread within me.

I felt each thrust, each scratch, and every time he decided to bite me somewhere else on my body. I stopped screaming after a while, my voice once again hoarse.

 **_Just close your eyes..._ ** ****

I was tired and could do nothing more but take it, the only comfort I could find being in the lovely voice whispering softly in my mind as I fathomed the day it would all come to an end, _hoping_ it was today.

He left me there, going to join the rest on the run. I just continued to lie there, staring numbly at the red substance next to me. I could make some kind sense of it; I knew it was mine, but I didn't care. I liked the way it dripped off my fingers, landing with a splat back into the puddle.

 **_The sun is going down..._ ** ****

I looked to the side, seeing a letter-opener with a very sharp edge, sitting neatly on the desk. I smiled; that's it, I can be done with the pain. He wouldn't stop, and I knew that, and I didn't have the strength to run.

I just wanted it all to end.

I crawled over to the desk, lifting myself up enough to reach up and grab it, crumpling to the floor in pain. All I could think, however, was that it would all be over soon.

All the pain will soon be gone.

**_You'll be alright..._ **

I lifted it up straight above my heart. _On the count of three_ , I kept telling myself.

 _One_ , I could see the glint of moonlight shining off the letter opener.

 _Two_ , I brought it down, touching where my heart would be.

 _Three_ , I cursed a few colourful words in my head because it was a frick-fracking dull letter-opener and dropped it to the side, not only because it was as dull as my personality. Then, a faint glint caught my attention, shimmering into my peripheral view as I gave up on my attempts on... well, anything, because I was far gone to the point where I didn't even need to stab myself.

I could _feel_ my bones were already breaking.

_Crack_

I could _hear_ my bones were breaking, each one by one, and all I could think was, why couldn't _death_ be easy for me.

I dropped, losing all of any strength I had left as the gut-wrenching pain kicked up a notch every other minute, my eyes stuck on that shiny thing, glimmering in the distance. It was a coin, this one silver and larger than the one I was given; even from this distance, I could tell. With a slight, instinctive squint of my eyes, I took note of what side was facing up.

 _"_ _I want you to be free."_

So do I; I do believe I've been good enough to deserve at _least_ just that.

So I endured. I endured the pain of being in this place one last time. Just a little longer...

 **_No one can hurt you now..._ ** ****

It took hours, and the moon, full and bright, started to lower before the pain eased up. I looked down at myself, hoping that I was a ghost, but knowing that I didn't perish just yet. I saw paws, giant black ones, and pushed myself onto them, wobbling as I struggled to stand. I was a lot taller than the desk, nearly as tall as the door itself. I caught my very faint reflection in one of the glass cabinet doors of the only bookcase in the room and nearly threw up as I found myself staring back at an enormous wolf.

 _Of course_. The first time I phase, and I turn into a _wolf_. God _s_ damn it.

 **_Come morning light..._ ** ****

I looked out the window and saw that the wolves were starting to come back, including the family.

 **_Someday, you'll be safe and sound..._ ** ****

Yeah... and for that to happen, I needed to get out of there.

_Run._

And so, impulsively, I did the only thing I could think of; with a new-found amount of energy, I clogged the bunch of my clothes from the ground in my enormous mouth and thoughtlessly jumped out the window, crashing to the ground.

_Run._

It hurt, but I wanted out of there, so I did just as I had seven years ago.

 _Don't look back. Don_ ' _t let them catch you._

I ran.

 _Run as fast as you can, then run even faster than that._ **_Don't look back._ ** ****

I sprinted towards the forest, acquainting myself with my new speed as I took off in haste, with only two phrases in my head,

" _Goodbye,_ _Alessia_ _and Annabelle Adams. You truly are soul guardians._ "

And I never, once, looked back over my shoulder as I ran to my freedom, the only thought in my mind being that of gratitude for whatever goddess spoke to me and gave me the comfort I needed, even if it came too late.

For the final push, I needed to finally run.

**_There'll no longer be fire around..._ **

Yes, and no need to look back anymore.


	5. 1½ - Safe And Sound

**February 9, 1980**

" _Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on._ "

Fiery golden eyes stared down into pools of orchid-coloured orbs, gazing down with such gentleness and kindness that could easily compare to that of a mother.

" _Hold on to this lullaby... even when music is gone..._ "

" _Ah-dah_?" a small but rather high-pitched voice echoed in an attempt to recreate the last word sung.

The owner of the golden eyes chuckled softly. "Perfect," they said, tone playful, prompting a smile from the small bundle in her arms, ensued by a fluttery giggle.

"Hng!"

With a smile of her own, the woman holding the baby hummed momentarily before singing once more, her soft voice lulling the little bundle of joy into a snooze.

" _Just close your eyes, the sun is going down... you'll be all right..._ "

A slightly cold but soft long finger brushed gently over the baby's plump cheek that was the very definition of chubbiness but also delicacy, the touch lingering ever so slightly.

" _Come morning light..._ "

The golden eyes welled up with unshed tears as their owner carefully placed the slumbering bundle into its crib.

" _Someday, you'll be safe and sound..._ "

Hands lingering over the fragile little body.

" _There'll no longer be fire around..._ "


	6. 2 - No Place Like Home

**Oberg Mountain Trail; Tofte, Minnesota, US**

**May 1** **6** **, 1988**

My escape was long, but that may just be because I just _had_ to make sure I was far enough away that I was safe. I had no idea how much time had passed, but by the time I'd slowed down a bit, the sun was coming out.

I was thirsty, hungry, and just wanted to stop and rest, but I didn't pull to a stop just yet. I kept going till I reached the main trail of Oberg Mountain, where a driveway was visible in a short distance. I stopped in front of a large bolder and collapsed onto the ground beside it, exhausted. I turned back into my human self without even realizing it; the pain of the phase had resurfaced, though I was feeling so numb I had somehow managed to keep my mind from fully processing it and blocked it.

Gazing down at my body, I let out a soft breath, my brow twitching slightly at the faint pain in my throat; I hadn't used my voice in so long, it hurt just breathing. I don't think I'll be able to actually speak for quite some time, even if I tried. There's also the fact that I haven't exactly been taught proper articulation or pronunciation— I don't even know how to say those words aloud.

Wobbling and shaking in my weakened state, I forced myself onto my feet and took a closer look at myself; the cuts had healed, if only slightly, but had left dark scars, the lot very visible, creating a stark contrast against my pallid skin— a token for life, of last night and every other night I had to suffer. With yet another strained sigh, I swayed slightly, shaking and tilting every so often, as I struggled to dress myself with what remained of my clothes before scrambling up and slumping down on top of the bolder, sighing once more at that one thought that was stuck in my head.

I'm free.

But what's good about being free if I have no place to go? _No place like home_. I am completely alone, and now, I would never know if there was another side to my story.

I brought out the little box Alessia had put in my pocket the day before. I wanted to open it, but at the same time, I was scared. Why? I have no idea, but I knew I wasn't ready to open it now. I looked down at myself and instantly regretted doing so. I hadn't even noticed when I'd changed myself back into my clothes, but my shorts were _really_ damaged, my shirt was mostly ripped, and red- and dirt-stained as well as my shorts and shoes.

Sighing with a tinge of a wince, I pulled the gold coin out of my other pocket and aimlessly stared at it, clutching the small box to my chest, feeling... numb and slightly deadpanning. My gaze wavered nonce, not even when I heard a rather familiar sound coming from the left end of the driveway— a sound I hadn't heard in seven years.

A _truck_ pulled over when its driver saw me sitting on the bolder. A man came out of the driver's seat and made his way to me.

"Hey, kid! What are you doing here all—" He cut himself off when he grew nearer and took a closer look at me. "Shit, what the hell happened to you?" he muttered, somewhat horror-struck as he cautiously began to approach me.

Despite the pain I was in, my body instantly grew tense with each step he took closer, thus my gaze never once leaving him. I didn't know this person. For all I knew, he could be planning to take me on as a slave too.

No.

I did not run to my freedom only to have it take from me again.

My throat was quick to tighten, almost painfully so, as a low growl built its way up from my chest. My movements were sluggish and painfully clumsy as I stumbled off the boulder and crouched behind it, dragging myself away at each step he took until he came to a sudden stop, finally seeming to catch the point I was trying to make.

I don't like strangers, and I ain't letting anyone take me.

In two long strides, he was in front of me, with an expression on his face I couldn't quite decode, but that was the least of my worries. As he leant down and lowered his voice till it was almost soft, he tentatively but quickly reached a hand toward me and I could not help my instinctive reflex... not that I tried.

"Hey, it's all right, kid, I'm not trying to—"

 _CLOMP_.

The sudden taste of something thick with a slightly metallic edge oozed its way into my mouth, filling it with a sweetness that was almost too unbearable to savour. The reaction on both ends, however, had left us both startled frozen, a deadpanning tension lingering between us, hanging almost painfully above us. It lasted for quite a bit before he snapped out of his evident shock.

"... are you gonna let go?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and growled, keeping my glower still and as intimidating as possible, channelling my best impression of the head of the Adams family; I'd never tried anything of the such, but I'd seen Annabelle doing this with Alessia a few times whenever she grew annoyed with the latter.

Shouldn't be too hard— just narrow your eyes so deep as though you want to destroy the person in front of you, bare your teeth (though the latter might not be as effective with said teeth already piercing into the stranger's skin...) and growl (without straining your very unused throat so much to the point that red liquid starts building its way up to your lungs, though clearly, upon feeling the difference in taste in my mouth, I have miserably failed...).

He winced and grunted as my reaction pulled slightly at his newly-opened wound, before uttering a sigh, visibly relaxing himself, practically leaving himself vulnerable before me.

"C'mon, kid, I'm not looking to hurt you. I swear by Jesus, I mean you no harm."

I stared at the man crouched before me, startled by how... honest he seemed to be. He'd stopped when he saw me, but he'd made no attempt to assault me. Even after I assaulted him... he didn't even try to retaliate.

My gaze never once wavering from his, I slowly but cautiously opened my mouth, unclamping my teeth from his hand, instantly scurrying further away, stopping short when my back suddenly hit the bark of a tree. The smell coming from the oozing liquid was quick to divert my attention downward and I instantly felt shame welling up inside me upon catching the resulting sight of my actions.

"Hey, it's all right," the man uttered softly, reaching forward with his other hand and gently lifting my chin up until I met his gaze anew. "Just gotta clean n' wrap it up, and it'll be good as new."

With a swift hand, he tore at the hem of his dark shirt and wrapped the cloth around his injured hand, my eyes following his movements with light awe at how nimble he was.

Catching my gaze, he smiled and lifted his hand, turning it over. "See? All better."

Tentatively, I put my coin and box down, and stared. I wasn't sure what to do now. Before I could think any further, however, I'd found myself reaching forward and taking hold of his hand.

The man chuckled, gazing down at me with a look I could barely recall receiving. "I'm all 'ight, kid. Doesn't even hurt."

I gazed back up at him and stared, pressing into his hand with my thumb, deadpanning when he yelped, clearly out of pain.

"It just stings, no biggie," he uttered, grimacing as he pulled his hand out from mine and glanced around us. "Movin' on— why are you out here alone?"

I deadpanned. Way to rip off the band-aid...

When I didn't reply, he glanced back down at me. "Where are your parents?"

At those words, the blankness blanketing my face suddenly cracked, my eyes widening as I stared at the man with watering eyes, hesitantly shaking my head.

He frowned. "They... they haven't just _left_ you, right?" My gaze dropped as I shook my head once more. His eyes suddenly widened as the realization seemed to hit him. "They're de— gone?"

I nodded.

He pursed his lips. "How long?"

Resting the small box between my legs, I shakily lifted my hands and showed him seven of my fingers.

"Seven hours?"

I gave him a deadpanned look; because this would most definitely happen to a child with their parents seven minutes away.

"Seven days?"

I shook my head.

"Weeks?"

I shook my head again and stretched my arms hoping he would understand.

"... months?"

I stared, and he seemed to suddenly understand my silent response.

He gasped, startled and shocked. "S-seven years?" he choked out.

I nodded, gaze dropping anew as I started fiddling with the hem of my ripped shirt, timidly.

"God, you must be freezing, here," he said.

He took off his jumper and wrapped it around me. I'm not going to lie; I almost bit him again. This time, however, I managed to tame myself enough to merely stiffen, if only momentarily, when he picked me up and carried me to the truck, but I found myself slightly relaxing whence he placed me in the passenger seat. He walked around the truck and settled in the driver's seat. We sat there in silence. I glanced at him sideways and saw him frowning at the steering wheel.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at me. "You're lost, aren't you?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Alright," he murmured, nodding as well. "You don't have any other family nearby?" he asked. I shook my head. He nodded, frowning at the steering wheel once again as the silence came back for a few minutes.

I took another deep breath, wincing slightly as pain shot through my side.

"You _do_ have a name, right?" he spoke anew, and I nodded my reply yet again. He narrowed his eyes. "You're not gonna say it out loud, are ya?"

My lips pulled tight in a thin line as I stared up at him, deadpanning, before carefully patting my neck in silent indication. Seemingly taking the hint, he sighed softly under his breath before reaching into a bag I had only just realized he had and brought out a stick and something flat. I stared at both in wonder.

"This is a pencil," he said, motioning the stick, "you write with it."

I nodded, finally remembering the pencil and the white flat thing he was holding was a sheet of paper. I hadn't seen any in a long while that I completely forgot what they looked like; the only writing supply I'd seen in the past seven years was, oddly enough, that stupid letter-opener, and it wasn't even an actual writing supply, to begin with. The Adams never wasted their time with writing stuff, and whatever writing supplies they _did_ have, I'd simply never found through my cleaning excursions. Probably just took precautions after I'd stabbed Axel in the ear, on my second night under their captivity, with a crayon.

Wordlessly, I grabbed the pencil and paper and hesitated for a second upon being momentarily forgetful before a deep breath as I lowered my hand, delicately holding the writing instrument as I shakily spelled my name on the sheet, admiring my mess of a result in utter disappointment. My writing was horrible, my letters too squiggly to be considered cursive, but too messy and tangled to be considered a clear or shorthanded script; I could only wonder if he would understand it or my inquiry of his own name.

Hesitantly, I stalled for a moment before showing him what I wrote. It took him a moment to read it, but he finally sighed in what appeared to something akin to relief before he smiled down at me, and for a moment I was struck by the gentleness and sincerity behind the gesture.

"I'm Tommy Turnbull. How old are you?"

I showed him nine of my fingers and he nodded in reply. Then I scratched the previous note and wrote once again, _My family perished in a fire seven years ago and I have been_ lost _here in the forest ever since,_ before showing it to him once more. I made sure to say that I got lost because I didn't want to go around saying that I was kidnapped and mistreated by a family of _werewolves_ except for two in the family who were rather nice to me.

He nodded and sighed. "I guess I'm gonna have to take you to the nearest orphanage," he said as he started to drive the truck.

I looked at him curiously. Orphanage... I had no idea what that word meant. He seemed to get a hint, so he narrowed his eyes for a few seconds before replying.

"An orphanage is a place where kids your age and under, max eighteen years old, without families, stay. It's a home for orphans."

An orphan child, that's what I was.

My gaze dropped to the little box resting neatly on my lap, with the golden coin nestle still, right on top of it.

An orphan child was someone without a family to get back to. Without a home.

I blinked numbly, my eyes stilled on the golden coin nestled atop the red little box.

 _I_ was alone. _I_ had no family to get back to— no home.

The corner of my lips tugged upward, ever so slightly.

Yes, I was alone... but at least I was _free_.

With that out of the way, we remained silent for the rest of the journey and, after sniffing no ill intentions from my rescue, I was finally able to rest.

**Bellefaire Orphanage; Cleveland, Ohio, US**

**May 1** **7** **, 1988**

I shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the other people in the room, more so under that of the visiting medic. I had personally nothing against him, but there was something about his pallid skin, golden eyes— which I very much disliked, by the way; the colour was too far off from the one that brought me comfort— and that strange, sweet scent emanating from his person that left a buzzing sensation of a flaring burn in my nose, to the point where a mere whiff of it nearly brought me a slight bit of pain. I had to force myself to bear with it, though, for breathing through my mouth only made the quenching pain in my throat all the more unbearable.

"There's not much I can deduce at a mere touch, with no CT scan, but my best guess would be Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis."

"... Doc, please speak in English."

The doctor chuckled halfheartedly as he stood. "It means, there's some scarring somewhere in the interstitium of her lungs, though its cause remains unknown. There's possible inflammation of her tonsils as well, though that mainly just makes it hard for her to swallow or breathe, depending on the gravity of the inflammation."

He removed his gloves and ran a hand through his golden locks as he threw another glance my way. "She doesn't seem to have a problem with that, though, so I'm leaning more toward my first deduction." Sigh. "I must admit, I don't understand how they could've sustained so much damage, and with the lack of communication, I'm afraid there's only so much I can do," he said, putting his medical tools back inside his black briefcase. "And we can't force her into anything. With the state she's in, I'd say it would be better to wait for her to take the first step before going any further on the matter."

"... but she _can_ talk," the owner of the orphanage inquired.

"If she understands us without any hearing difficulties... she's not deaf, but I don't think she was always mute either. So yes, it's plausible she _c_ _ould_ talk, despite her damaged lungs, but my guess is that she chooses not to," the doctor replied. "Quite smart of her to react that way rather than force herself, and, quite frankly, I wouldn't have recommended it, either. At least not until her lungs are fully healed, which might take quite a while, especially considering her current state of health. Forcing herself now might only make matters worse; it may end up that she can't at all, anymore. On that note, I would recommend blended solutions, for the most part, when it comes to the feeding; I don't think she would be able to keep down anything solid for a while."

Nurse Angelica nodded in agreement. "I tried to give the girl a physical checkup before you got here, Dr. Cullen, but I didn't manage to get very far before she went completely berserk when I tried to simply raise her shirt."

She threw a hesitant glance my way before turning back to the rest of them, lowering her voice. "I only got a glimpse for, like, a second, but I can tell you that whatever she went through after her family passed away... wherever she's been during those years were no result of mere survival. I think she's been enduring abuse and possible torture; her body is full of cuts, bites, scratches, and forming bruises— old _and_ new ones..." she said. She stepped closer to the doctor and leaned forward, lowering her voice even more; "... in places kids her age shouldn't _ever_ be touched, _and_ there were words _carved_ into her body, Dr. Cullen."

Faces paling simultaneously, they all turned to look at me, but I immediately averted my gaze away from them and glanced around the room we were in, my fingers fiddling with my golden coin.

"Did you find out her name?" the owner of the orphanage asked, her voice straining as she uttered her question.

They shook their heads. "I'm sorry, Miss Jones, but we're out of luck with that as well," the doctor said. "I'll prescribe some antibiotics and some other medication for the pain though; I do believe she's had more than enough of it..." Sighing again, he slid into his coat and grabbed his briefcase yet again, handing her a sheet with a multitude of prescriptions scribbled unto it. "I would like for you to keep a close eye on her and report to me any progress or peculiarity. Let me know if there are side-effects, of any sort, to the medication. I'll be back in two weeks to check on her again; maybe by then we'll, at the very least, have her name."

"Of course, Doctor, thank you."

With a small smile sent my way, the odd-looking doctor left with the nurse in tow, and I wordlessly followed him out the door with my gaze before, suddenly, I spotted an odd, small white rectangular object— some sort of whiteboard— and a black marker at the other end of the room. I got up and stumbled over to it with weak, quivering legs.

I uncapped the marker and wrote down on the board, _Are you the o_ _w_ _ner of this place_?

Narrowing my eyes at it as I looked over my writing; the letters were still slightly entangled and a little squiggly, but after having spent about two hours practicing during my ride here, my writing had become somewhat more readable. It was a good thing I'd learned to read before the ambush all those years ago; even though today was actually my first time writing, I could spell according to memory; I could only hope I hadn't made too many mistakes.

With a hesitant step, I made my way over to the two remaining adults blatantly staring at me and handed the board to the lady who was standing on the authoritarian side of the desk, whom I guessed was Miss Jones.

She took the board and read it before her face lit up as she smiled kindly down at me. "Yes, sweetheart, I am the owner of this orphanage. Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

I nodded holding my hand out for the board. She handed it back to me and, once again, I wrote my name and asked for hers in return.

She smiled brightly after reading what I'd written on it. "My name is Katherine Jones, but you can call me Miss Kathie if you'd like to," she said as I nodded, trying to remember that for later on. "How old are you?" she asked.

I held up my two hands, counting up to nine, to which she nodded.

I grabbed the board and wrote, _I was given birth on the_ _day 27_ _of_ _December_... _ten years ago_... I don't know what year that was, all I know is how long ago I was born, so... yeah.

"You have a very proper vocabulary, I'm impressed, Lilah," she said with a smile.

It was immediate, and apparent, I assume, how I stiffened upon hearing the name. No one had ever called me that other than my mother who had called me that the last time I saw her, seven years ago.

Miss Kathie took notice of my reaction and her expression almost immediately turned apologetic. "Dr. Cullen, Nurse Angelica, if you would be so kind," she said, motioning towards the door.

The visitors nodded before exiting the room before Miss Kathie turned to face me.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. I nodded. "You will be staying here for a while, get to know the other kids around here and get better while we find a family that will respond generously to your needs," she said.

My eyes widened in panic as I quickly gripped the edge of her desk, sinking my nails in the wood while internally panicking.

Her eyes widened. "You... you don't want to go?" she asked in disbelief.

I fervently I shook my head. Now that I was in a safe place, I had no intention of leaving... at least till I was eighteen... at least. Definitely not now; I need time to heal from these past seven years. She took my hand in hers, hers larger than mine, and smiled at me.

"How about we make a deal," she proposed. I tilted my head to the side and looked at her curiously. "If a couple of parents want to adopt you, I'll keep you updated about it and you can choose if you want to go with them or not. I know it might take a while for you to get better, so I think it's the best way for all of us, don't you think?"

I'll be honest; I had no idea what the word "updated" meant, and could only guess in the matter of context, though considering I understood everything else she'd said, I simply nodded in agreement as she smiled once more and gently squeezed my hand.

"Deal?"

I grabbed the board and gave her my answer.

 _Deal_.

**Little Whinging, Surrey, UK**

**May 2, 1989**

I wasn't sure how to feel about this; the idea of being wanted by someone who didn't know you at all. I could not comprehend what had come over me when the Harrisons walked in and decided they wanted me as soon as they laid eyes upon me, and I just... went.

It took me one measly glance to realize poor Merilyn Harrison was very ill; the woman could barely stand on her feet as it was, it was a wonder she'd managed to travel overseas. Though there was obviously nothing I could do, I couldn't help but feel for her; a woman so young— not much older than my own mother would've been today— so ill, the chances of her surviving another year so slim...

Because of this disease of which I had yet to know what was, she couldn't have children. Knowing her younger sister was the owner of an orphanage, albeit in a whole other continent and sea— yes, Mrs. Merilyn and Miss Kathie were sisters— she decided to travel with her husband all the way from England, opting to see who she could foster while visiting Miss Kathie.

The other thing that cut me short had been their name, or rather Mrs. Merilyn's husband's name. Though the gods had graciously allowed him to have but three names bestowed upon him by his parents, his first and last name alone, together, rang an excessively loud bell in the back of my mind. I could not understand what this pull was, but I blindly allowed myself to follow it into their waiting arms.

It was stupid of me.

Considering everything I had been through for the longest time, I should not have been too trusting. And yet, when I sniffed at them upon feeling their gentle touch on my frail shoulders, I could sense no ill intention toward me.

It seems there were really people as good as truck-driver Tommy Turnbull.

Of course, Miss Kathie had been proof of that. And Miss Eliza, the receptionist; she was a very sweet woman. And so was that Noah guy— another orphan at this fine establishment. He was the eldest among us others, standing tall at the age of fifteen, but he was very kind and always ready to lend a hand. He'd even been gracious enough to let me dub him with numerous nicknames after I had grown comfortable enough to be around anyone of the opposite gender, Nona among others as it didn't sit well with me the fact that he shared my brother's name.

Frankly, I often got a kick out of his reddened face whenever I'd call him it, or even Père Noel— that last one was Jonah's fault; I have no idea who the heck this "Père Noel" is. Apparently, it was French for "Santa Claus"... I don't know who that is.

Honestly, it had been quite the struggle to be around the doctor, and even Mr. Turnbull, though the fact that the latter held no abnormal aura to his being, or also that I had been far too exhausted when I'd encountered him played a crucial role in my reaction toward him. After months of being around said doctor and the poor— annoyingly persistent— boy, they... well, they wore me out until I was at least mildly tolerant of their presence. It was excruciatingly baffling how much quicker my relenting had been toward the Harrisons, and I could not help but ponder over this uncharacteristic reaction of mine the entire journey away from the orphanage and to the house I was meant to live in.

House 3 in the suburban street of Privet Drive in Little Whinging was where I was to move.

Yet again, I had no idea what to make of it; I'd never travelled before. I couldn't count running through the interconnected woods of the States a good travel— wasn't like any of those times had been hiking trips. I faintly remember I _did_ have to travel a few times, when I was very young, to visit my grandparents, but, mostly, they would come to see us, rather than the other way around. There was also someone else we would often visit, but I could just never remember who it was; all I could remember were golden eyes. I could never remember how it is that we travelled either, for, truthfully, I'd never been in a vehicle of any sort until I'd met Mr. Turnbull, my saviour.

Miss Eliza had taken care of all the paperwork for my travel, and with an eye-watering goodbye— those two cry a lot... does that happen a lot when we're older...?— I was off in a vehicle they called a van, with a small bag withholding what little clothes I'd come to own over the past year, my coin, and my little box, and thenward unto a boat.

The trip was a rather long one, and I only grew worried as I caught sight of the upcoming date, now that I was a little more caught up with the present happenings; I came to find, so far, that _it_ happens around every three months or so. And two weeks from now would mark yet another third month— I was _so_ not looking forward to _it_.

On another note, I also came to discover within the first hour of my travel that I simply despised water. Obviously not the one meant for drinking or bathing, but anything deep enough to swim in was my enemy.

Seriously, there's a reason the Titanic is still a big deal to this day.

To keep us protected, the founders of my old villa had dug a crevasse around our little town and filled it with water from the neighbouring river, making a sort of little isle out of _Anima Curatoria_. The number of times I'd fallen in and nearly drowned after being chased around by my brothers— I'd even almost fallen in _that_ night as my mother and I had run out!

I just— I hate deep water.

**May** **4, 1989**

Little Whinging, I learned, was located in the county of Surrey, near London in the southeast of England. I remember, vaguely, once hearing my grandparents came from London, or, well, somewhere near there; as had their parents and grandparents before them. Even my mother had grown up there; it seems there was more to my ancestry than I'd initially thought.

Another thing that caught my attention was the recollection for the reason behind the familiarity I found in Mr. Arnold's name.

My grandfather's family name, from my mother's side, had been Harrison (well, my grandfather's, that is; my grandmother's family name was something that held plenty more secrets, but we'll get back to that some other time). As a matter of fact, my grandfather's father— my great-grandfather's name had, too, been Arnold Harrison. The only distinction between them was the fact that this Arnold had a middle name, whilst my great-grandfather hadn't. Also, his eyes were not the familiar cornflower silvery hue that was those of all and any Harrison. My mother was an exception, but that was for more obvious reasons. It was known, however, that this optical mutation was mostly passed down between men in the Harrison family.

There was no way life was too coincidental that this man before me was somehow related to me... right?

By the time I'd felt somewhat settled into my new (yet to be determined whether it'd be permanent or not...) hom— _house_ , around two months had passed. It was admittedly comfortable living in a suburban house in London; though some neighbours were nosy, they never meant any harm, and otherwise left you alone when they weren't trying to see what goes on with whom, in the house no one ever seems to leave.

It felt more comfortable than I'd like to admit upon my arrival. The Harrisons never told me what to do, but I always did my best to look after them, as they did with me. They were strangers, and yet, though driven by selfish dreams, they still decided to take me in without prying to know why I _couldn_ _'_ _t_ speak. Why I nearly never reacted to much of anything as any other child would. Why I wasn't the least bit flamboyant or loud or energetic as most children were known to be, and mostly just laid around being... listless. Yes, that's the word; _listless_ (trust me, I looked it up, so I know what I'm talking about)— I was perhaps the most listless one out there, but the Harrisons weren't overbearing, nor did they hover in any way, and I quite liked it.

Living with someone else was a new experience for all of us. Unlike myself, neither Harrison had had any other sibling they'd lived with, or at least Mr. Arnold hadn't, as far as I'd been made aware. Their extended family wasn't so big either, compared to what my pack had been like anyway; both, at this point in time, were orphans much like myself, Mrs. Merilyn and Miss Kathie's stepfather was still very much alive, currently taking the trip of his life down in Calcutta, India. He was a principal at a school nearby— St. Grogory's Primary School— but he had chosen to travel for the summer vacation before the start of term in a few months' time.

Bonding with them was, surprisingly, not that big of an issue either, despite my being mute. Mrs. Merilyn loved reading books, and she'd taken to accompanying me to bed at night when she'd discovered I had nightmares. She would sit by my bedside and read fairy-tales to me till I fell asleep. I had no idea why fairy-tales were her choice of literary genres when she'd read to me, for I found no ounce of logic in its usual content.

Love at first sight? That lip-lock people claim to be a magical act of true love?

That's all a bunch of bull... _shirt_.

Mr. Arnold was an odd fellow. Sometimes, it almost looked like he could read my mind. He got jumpy when I would suddenly appear out of nowhere in all my quietude and would curse. But then, he somehow discovered I would curse in my mind whenever I couldn't figure something out. Apparently, there was a look about me whenever I'd curse silently.

"Language," he'd say warningly, though lighthearted with the smallest of grins on his face.

He was a nice man, and though I was quite an oddity myself, he was just... something else. A few weeks into my stay with them, I'd discovered he was quite adept with music. He was a lawyer, but he also loved writing music and was a very skilled pianist. When I'd first discovered this, I would hide behind the entryway of the living room, watching from afar as he seemed to lose himself in the artworks he created.

Eventually, I ended, one day, walking out of my hiding place and sitting on the ground by his feet, watching in all my awe as his fingers would fly across the white and black buttons— he called them keys, but... well, you press them, so I say buttons— creating the most beautiful music I had ever heard in my life.

I'd realized shortly, upon the nearing of August that I had all but started acting like a lost puppy, always attached to either Harrison fostering me. Frankly, though, I didn't really mind. It's true what they say; there's no place like _home_ , and, honestly, it would be a lie if I said this wasn't starting to feel like one more and more each day.

And yet, a single tree brought me nostalgia. A single tree brought me all the way back and made my mind run through numerous "what ifs"; though I'd vowed to never think back to _all of anything_ , thinking through the past was an inevitable thing.

Yes, I was a shifter. Yes, I could suddenly do odd things shifters could not. Yes, perhaps there was yet more I could do. Yes, perhaps, it turns out, I may just be more than a soul-shifter.

But I am still human.

I can't just _not_ look back. My past... everything I've endured brought me to where I am today. _Made_ me who I am today.

There _is_ no place like home, but if I don't look back, how can I build one far from what took everything from me.

 _Don't look back_.

But I must.

 **May** **1** **2, 1989**

Birth is not a concept children often think about... or at least not one I've ever bothered to ponder. I didn't know how human beings were made, nor did I care much for it; knowing it involved medical institutions was enough to drive me away from the subject.

I dislike anything from that department.

Though Dr. Cullen was someone I eventually managed to relax myself around, I was still very uncomfortable with the idea of being pocked and prodded and regarded with that judgmental look that was clearly there even though they assured you they wouldn't judge you at all. From what I've come to see, everyone's got problems, so doctors cannot possibly believe they don't have them too.

If it is just that in which they believe, then they are way in over their heads.

You could imagine my great, and possibly _only_ , relief when we sailed overseas and I was almost led to believe I wouldn't need to do any more medicals follow-ups. Then I was told some sleazy doctor would be taking over for Dr. Cullen, who remained in America.

May the gods bless the Harrisons for calming me before I could lash out at the shady doctor.

The Waterfield Practice looked nothing like a medical clinic from the outside. In fact, it looked very much like all the other suburban houses littering Little Whinging; were it not for the lingering smell of boundless diseases I could not name, and the dark aura surrounding the enormous establishment, I would have never known such a place existed in real life.

Literally, I hadn't known such a place existed until I first watched the television, and, even then, I thought it was just some common, fictional establishment. I thought doctors only had a door-to-door thing going; I mean, that would've explained why Dr. Cullen went out of his way to follow up on my recovery.

My first impression of the new doctor was that he was a very odd man. He wasn't odd like my previous doctor, mind you, even less so like Mr. Arnold; I wasn't exactly normal myself either, but from the moment I was brought into his office, where the darkened aura of the clinic seemed mainly focused around him, I was struck frozen with grand reluctance to take another step toward him.

He wasn't normal, _that_ much I could tell.

It wasn't the exact same feeling I got from Dr. Cullen; though the man was anything but normal himself, I had come to know he was a rather good enough person than I trusted him with my health.

Dr. Gerandy was a gaunt-looking man with long, dark hair. He wore a white coat I noticed to be a trend among doctors... or at least those I saw along the halls of Waterfield Practice— a black fancy shirt, matching pants, belt and shoes, and that odd thin wrapping around his neck, tucked under his buttoned coat, much like I recall Dr. Cullen general attire, alas in brighter colours than the former.

The next thing that had caught my attention was his eyes, which were a bit of an odd sight, though nothing too new; after all, Dr. Cullen's eyes were a golden hue, and my own was a mixture of two colours I had yet to find the names of.

If ours weren't common, then his definitely weren't. Where the normal human being has been known to have brown, hazel, green or blue eyes, his were a bit beyond the latter, taking on a strange shade of it, his eyes adorned with bizarre flecks. They were deep and menacing, and— honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this man ended up being a murderer. He has the role of a shady lurker down on point with that distinctive hunched, shuffling walk of his paired with that unsettling curl of his lips as he's had shown ever since he first greeted us today.

Let's just say that day was the day I discovered the incredible use of what Mrs. Merilyn called puppy-dog eyes.

To say I wasn't insulted would be a lie; I had been quite offended at being compared to a mutt... that is until she explained the meaning behind the saying, and I was left to ponder about such stupidities.

Back to Waterfield, though, I had used these "puppy-dog eyes" on them when the shady doctor had all but ordered them to leave me in the room alone with him. I didn't know him. I didn't know what he would, or what he was capable of doing; I trusted the man as much as I trusted a vampire not to bite.

And, let's be honest: if vampires did exist— which I don't doubt at this point, considering what I am— they would drain you before you even said "no."

The man was haughty and lofty and insatiable for secrets that weren't his to know. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought he somehow knew what I was but... that was impossible...

Right?

He treated me like some sort of animal, and though, sure, I didn't help much in my own case without any verbal protest, and, sure, I technically did turn into an animal every now and again, I wasn't an _actual_ animal...

Yeah, I'm not helping my case _at all_.

There was a lot I wasn't comfortable with, that including his mere presence. However, I think what bothered me most about being here— or at least _one of_ the things that bothered me most about being here was that he seemed to get a kick out of my discomfort.

What a sadistic persona.

When I was told I can finally wander while the Harrisons spoke with him, I didn't wait for anyone to tell me twice before I was out of his office. It took finding myself in an area that smelt of that red bodily fluid and piss to realize I had, perhaps, wandered a little too far.

Okay, not perhaps— I was lost.

I was a tad bit worried about the possibility of being found by Dr. Gerandy in particular. But then, I remembered what I was and recalled my ability to sniff my way back; I just had to seek the smell of strawberries— Mrs. Merilyn absolutely loved those.

In the end, this proved to be a bit of a hard task, considering the uncomfortable smell of sickness, that metallic smell and piss seemed to be clogging my sense of smell, though my attention was further averted when a faint scream of pain reached my ears. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about it; this establishment was generally quiet, or so I was told; hearing screams of pain felt so misplaced here.

Curiosity further prodded, I followed the screams until I stood by a door with only one window half-covered by a curtain. I had to push myself unto the tips of my toes to get a peek inside, and to say the sight before me was not a pleasant one to be greeted with would be the understatement of the century.

I was only mildly distracted when I felt two other figures, smaller than myself by a lot, settle each on either side of me, attempting to peek in as well. Inside, there was a doctor— tall, dark skin, curls that rival mine tied up at the back of her head. She wore blue gloves, a coat like the other doctors, and an apron over it the latter and her gloves stained red as she stood between another very dishevelled woman, the latter of which lay on the only bed in the room with spread legs and watery eyes.

The _Doctor_ huffed. "Why have I still not sought out someone else to take care of _these_ pregnant women going into labour?"

Behind her stood a slightly taller woman with lighter, tamer curls held back by some sort of plastic claw? She too wore an apron and a pair of gloves, though the latter ran up the length of her arms to her elbows. She stood aside, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the scene unfold before her, seeming almost amused as her dark eyes followed each sequence in its entirety.

"I _have_ suggested it to you before," she hummed. "Many times, actually; since it became a regular thing, a decade ago."

"Shut it, Nadia," the Doctor grumbled. "Gods, I should've brought Yenn instead... C'mon, Claire, just a few more pu—"

"Why do you keep calling me that?! That's not even my— aaaaahhhh!"

"Clara, Claire— _semantics_ ," the Doctor waved her off.

"Have you ever even done this before?!" the pregnant woman shrieked.

The Doctor gave her such a deadpanning look that could almost rival my own. "You do realize you're speaking to the person who delivered your twins, right?"

A pair of giggles pulled my attention away from the happenings inside the room, and I found myself staring down at the pair of twins aforementioned. The two were quite the small things, standing roughly two feet shorter than myself. The resemblance was so uncanny, them being twins was no question. If not for the obvious difference in gender, I might've almost thought them identical.

When the giggling pair caught me staring at them, the two giggled again, staring back up at me with wide, honey-coloured eyes filled with visible mischief I could recognize almost instantly; there were quite a few trouble-makers at Bellefaire too.

"Where's the father?! Or the Aldens! And please tell me her twins aren't listening at the door."

"You're not going to start cursing, are you?"

"I don't curse."

"Yes, you do. Every day."

"I _swear_ ; there's a difference."

"Who you?"

I blinked. _What_?

Before I could think of anything further, I stumbled back against the far wall, dropping my little whiteboard as the ground beneath us and the walls nearby shook as though we were in the middle of an earthquake, a flash of light suddenly leaving a bit blinded for a matter of seconds.

"FUCK!"

Disoriented, I blinked multiple times, my sight replaced by reddened shades floating around, everything else blurred behind them. It took me a moment to notice, but the twins were gone; though I couldn't really see, I couldn't sense them around anymore, so I figured they must have run off, my mind fading in and out of attention as my ears suddenly caught some... _colourful_ words.

"Crappin'— shit— fuck— son of a— bullshittin'— fuckin'— ass-shittin'— _FUCK—_ "

"..."

"THIS IS THE SECOND TIME I WAS STRUCK BY SOME _SHITTING_ THING CAUSED BY A _BABY_ THAT HASN'T EVEN LEFT ITS MOTHER'S WOMB! I WILL SWEAR HOWEVER GODDAMN MUCH I WANT! AH! FUCK, THAT HURTS!!! WHY THE FUCK IS IT ALWAYS ME— _FUUUUUCK_ , I'M TURNING INTO A FUCKIN' _NEVILLE_!!!"

I blinked again. _What the heck is a "Neville"?_

For a moment, I ignored whatever the heck was going on in there, utterly baffled, but also very bothered by the lack of sight. My other senses were immediately on high alert, but anything else was currently at the bottom of my list of worries. There was a lot of screaming involved, that was for sure, but I didn't bother retaining any of the irrelevant information conversed among those women as I panicked over the result of my sight.

"I'm pissed, and I'm tired, and in desperate need of a shower! Now, unless you want to remain with a baby stuck halfway out of your vagina, I suggest you push now!"

"Graphic!"

"Just do it!"

"I got i—aaaaahhhh!"

"C'mon, the head's beginning to show!"

I blinked. _Er... what?_

"Just push!"

"Aaaaahhhh!"

"Mor—"

"STOP SCREAMING AT ME!! THAT'S NOT GOING TO—"

" _Wuaaaahhhh!_ "

"Push!"

Gods, what is going on?

"Lilah? Sweetheart? Where are you?"

I deadpanned. Did the Harrisons need some sort of reminder?

"Honey, you know she doesn't speak."

"I had to try."

The couple continued a light banter, which I used to my advantage, scrambling for my board as I focused my hearing only on their voices before stumbling along the wall, toward them. They weren't far; barely around the corner at the end of the hall; I could still hear the yells from here as the Harrisons continued their light, playful banter.

" _GODS_ , I HATE YOU ALL!"

"What did I do?!"

"YOU WORK FOR HER!!!"

" _With_ her."

"SAME DIFFERENCE!!"

"Oh, just shut up and push!" the Doctor yelled.

"You shut— aaaahhhh!"

Before long, the screams had settled slightly by the time the three of us made our way back around the same corner; turns out the room was actually near the entrance; what must the newcomers think? We stopped nearby as the Harrisons exchanged a few last words with the doctor, Mrs. Merilyn's tone slightly steeled as she spoke above him and her husband.

Having no clue as to what their conversation had been about, I turned my attention back to the odd entertainment, relishing in the return of my sight. My curiosity rose a little as I noticed the previously closed door was left slightly ajar. Throwing one glance over my shoulder at the adults, I snuck back over, peering through the small opening.

"Oh, God, please tell me she won't get into some bullshit involving sparkling vampires and shape-shifting Native Americans that aren't really werewolves!"

I blinked. _What?_

"I believe congratulations are in order," the Doctor mused as she approached the sat women, carefully placing a small bundle in her arms. "You are now the proud mother of _another_ cursed child."

The woman on the bed blinked, staring blankly at the Doctor.

"Oh, fuck me!"

"Language," the Doctor teased.

The woman remained silent for a moment, her lower lip momentarily jutting out before she suddenly smiled down at a bundle in her arms, brushing a finger over it.

Is... is that a... baby?

"So, what's the name, Claire?"

Oh, Gods, I think I just witnessed— _heard_ — **_that's still witnessing_** — someone giving birth.

Feeling a presence nearby, I rushed back just as a man entered the room with small figures I could recognize as the twins clinging to his legs, giggling with each step he took.

"We were thinking of going with _Milarayne_."

 _My... luh... rain..._ I pondered. What an odd name. Quite nice to the ear, but still rather peculiar.

"Peter. About time."

"Sorry, I hurried as fast as I could."

"Still you missed the whole thing."

"Sorry!"

"So, Milarayne? Quite unusual."

I was distracted once more when I suddenly felt a pair of eyes all but piercing into the back of my head. Turning around, a shudder ran down my spine as I locked gazes with the doctor I greatly disliked, instinctively taking a step further away from him and the Harrisons. Something between a grin and a smirk had curled onto his lips as he spoke with them, prompting me to further step away.

I really didn't like this man, and I hope to the gods I won't ever have to see him again.

"Lilah." My gaze snapped to the right, my eyes boring into Mrs. Merilyn's warm gaze. "We're going home now. Are you coming?"

I blinked, staring at her, dry lips parting in surprise at the word of choice. _Home?_

I hesitated, throwing another glance behind me at the door. My body stilled, a spike akin to a shock running down my spine as my gaze locked onto the Doctor, whom I could only now notice had odd, yet very beautiful golden-coloured eyes. My heart hammered against my chest for some reason I could not place when she suddenly smiled down at the woman and her baby.

"It's a beautiful name," she mumbled.

The woman smiled as well. "It is, isn't it? Milarayne... Anaya..."

I blinked. _What_?

"Er... what?"

Guess I'm not the only one...

"Khaalida..."

More? Really?

"Blaze... _Williams_."

It was silent for a moment as even I deadpanned at all the names chosen for one human being.

"We can take off the Blaze part." There was a hopeful edge, though clearly, it was no help whatsoever. "... I tried to stop her."

There was a pause.

"The hatred, it's global."

 **_Indeed._ ** ****

Board tightening against my chest, I slide my gaze back to the welcoming pair smiling down at me.

 **_But maybe not all is bad._ ** ****

**June 14** **, 1989**

Apparently, people had what many called a "summer vacation"... during the summer. I wasn't particularly sure what I was meant to do with myself during this period of time— I'd arrived at Bellefaire last year in late May, and was left with less than three months of consistent on-watch recovery before I was introduced to a rather heavy dose of education.

When I moved in with the Harrison's, I finished the schoolwork I was given under what they call "homeschooling." Seeing as Mrs. Merilyn's stepfather was the principal of the nearest school for those my age, he had taken it upon himself to teach me within the safe bounds of the Harrison household until the term ended.

"It's useless to send you now when there are only weeks left!" he had claimed. "You'll finish your work from home, and begin school this fall instead."

It wasn't the worst idea— of course, I'd much rather just... not work. Alas, life demands basic knowledge acquired mostly academically for whatever you wish to do in life, and though I admittedly aspired to do nothing more than sleep, I know I'd actually have to work to _eventually_ afford myself such a luxury.

Didn't mean I would put in _too much_ effort; I still have a lot of time ahead of me.

"You have five apples and your friend asks for three apples, how many do you have left?"

What would my brothers do?

Blink. _Five_.

Heh, I don't know, I can hardly remember them.

"... you have five apples and your friend asks— _by force_ — how many apples do you have left?"

What other example do I have?

_Five apples and a corpse._

The Adams may not be the best example to use... in _any_ situation. In my defence, I don't have any friends. Also, if I had five apples, I would eat the whole freakin' lot of it.

"... you worry me."

 _Sorry_.

As I slowly accustomed myself to my new living situation, I found myself rather quickly taken with the simpleton life that offered the suburban town of Little Whinging. However noisy the children's playground was, I found the general quietude of the neighbourhood so pleasing, I often wandered its mostly empty streets. Though Mrs. Merilyn mostly stayed at home, Mr. Arnold still worked, so boredom generally led me to go about. I had come to walk up and down the same streets so many times that I became rather well acquainted with the area, that including its people.

Going for a walk around town mostly meant that the familiar, friendly residents waved, or asked how the Harrisons were fairing, or most often just said hello. Being mute, I didn't ever really reply, of course. After discovering I could project my thoughts into people's minds, little over a year ago, however, I had tried to expand this ability to project my thoughts into more than one person.

So far, I've only managed to project it into six people at once, eight if I forced myself. Trying my brain too much, however, often left me more exhausted than I generally was, so I never really did it on a regular basis. So, whenever I was greeted, I merely ever nodded back or waved at them when I was feeling... generous. I didn't really get why they always had to say "hi" in the first place— they saw me almost every day— but I just went along with it and nodded back at them anyway.

How else would I fit in if I don't try what others do?

Today, however, there was a man sitting on the curb outside the Harrison household— a huge, unfamiliar adult who was sitting directly in front of the only way into the house. He was sitting with his head in his hands, his whole body slumped over, so still that it didn't seem like he was even alive.

Whoever he was, I had never seen him before, and, having no idea who he was set off a lot of red flags at the back of my head.

I immediately slowed down, not sure how to get past him without him noticing— but it was too late to escape unseen. My gaze shifted to the first visible window from the second floor— if I harnessed just enough strength from the supernatural part of me, I should be able to leap all the way there. Never tried... but it never hurts to. The worst that could happen would be breaking an arm, but when have I never done that befo— hey, that's a pretty bird; there was a little blue vertebrate perched on top of a nearby gatepost.

"Hey!"

I was startled out of my thoughts as the man exclaimed himself and stood, quickly making his way toward me. My entire body froze in place as he approached, my eyes stubbornly fixed on the little blue bird.

"Do you live around here? What's your name?"

The most unsettling thing about the man had to be the fact that he already seemed to know the answer to both questions.

Pushing myself to ignore his question, I shifted my gaze till my eyes fell upon the man so I could scrutinize him, not caring if I was openly doing so. Looking the man up and down, I took in his pale complexion and relaxed appearance, which created a stark contrast with the way he dressed and the way he held himself now that he stood tall before me, standing at a good three feet or so, taller than my own five feet of height.

He had blue eyes the colour of the sky, his pale face framed by raven black hair that fell straight to his shoulders. Standing tall before me, he wore a work attire similar to Mr. Arnold's— white shirt, black pants and fancy shoes. The only difference was that he didn't wear a nice black blazer to match with it, but rather a salmon-pink jacket with an aegean-coloured diamond pattern and golden embellishes hanging from his shoulders. His entire look was completed with a golden chain for a necklace and a pair of aegean-coloured earrings shaped like raindrops.

He was a sight easily appreciated, I must admit, despite the fact I found him to be very suspicious. The bright smile on his face didn't ease up my assessment by any means as he gazed down at me expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question.

"Well, if you do..." He momentarily averted his gaze, seeming almost sheepish as he reached for something in his pocket and brandished it before me.

I deadpanned.

It was a clean _American_ twenty-dollar bill. It crinkled slightly in his hand as he held it out to me, his expression turning a bit more abashed as he took in the flat look on my face. Seriously, did he not realize he was in an entirely different continent?

"Well... could you do me a favour?"

I blinked. _No_.

Seeming to notice my blatant refusal at his suspicious question, he was quick to wave his hands in what seemed as a way to reassure me, the smile curling back onto his lips, even more sheepish than before.

"Nothing bad! Sorry, I should have... Let me start over."

He cleared his throat and stood almost impossibly straighter. From where I was standing, it just made him look creepier.

"There's this kid— his name is Harry— who's about your age."

My first thought was centered on how... _basic_ the name sounded. Did it stand for something? Harold? Henry? Harrison? Also, for some reason, I found it slightly familiar. _Then again_ , it _is_ a very _basic_ name, so I could've heard it anywhere, for all I knew. However, my thoughts swam straight back to the suspicious man before me as he gazed down at me with that same expectant look again.

What do you want from me, ya weirdo?

"He lives just across the street with his aunt and uncle."

So he's completely unrelated to this kid? Yeah, 'cause that's not suspicious at all!

"You must be Lilah Harrison, right?" Red flag! Red flag! Abort enforced quest! Must escape! _Escape!_ "I met your parents earlier and they told me you were nine, just like him, so..."

He shook the twenty-pound note to bring it back to my attention.

"Can you try to be friends with the boy?" I blinked, startled by the sudden turn the odd, _clearly_ one-sided conversation took. "Just give it a chance and you can keep this! He's a good kid. You'll like him."

I tensed as I suddenly found myself _actually contemplating_ it. It wasn't for the money— god _s_ know I wouldn't know what to do with it. It was more the fact that a _stranger_ was trying to get me to be friends with a kid who clearly didn't even know about him. What was this kid to him anyway? Was he his secret love child or something?

"But you've gotta keep it a secret, too, okay? Things might not end nicely if anyone was to find o—"

The man was suddenly cut off by a rock the size of my hand slamming into the back of his head, startling me to the point I nearly, outright _shrieked_.

"Howl!"

The man winced, though I was more surprised he hadn't been knocked out by that hit instead of merely shrugging it off with a rub upside the head.

"Dammit," he muttered.

Tentatively, I stepped slightly toward the lawn to the left of the sidewalk and felt my eyes widen slightly as I recognized the figure storming our way. It was that woman from the clinic— the Doctor's assistant. Standing barely a foot short from the man— Howl, she glared at him, arms crossing over her chest as she came to a halt a few ways away from us.

She, too, was quite a sight.

She had an oval-shaped face framed with brown curly hair and large, stern, almond-shaped brown eyes. She didn't wear a lot of what Mrs. Merilyn had told me was makeup— paint for the face— aside from smokey eyes and glossed lips, as her face alone showed off what I can easily concur to be her natural beauty. And though her clothes weren't as... _extravagant_ as his, her style being much simpler than his, donning a simple dark-coloured leather jacket over a gray shirt and tight-fitting pants, paired with boots that made her appear taller than she clearly was, though not by much.

She was angry at the man, the anger toppling over the clear annoyance splayed in the scrunch between her eyebrows as she glared at him. I didn't know what they were saying as their banter was occurring in an entirely different language. There were a few instances where the man slid spurs of English, defensively calling out how he was "only trying to help!" or how it was the best thing he could think of, considering all other "variables" but kept being cut off by the woman's obvious reproaches.

Honestly, as... interesting as this foreign entertainment was, I was not at all comfortable by the situation or how it had been presented before me, so, using their banter as a way out, I quickly rushed around the pair and into the house, closing the door behind me with a sigh of relief.

I don't like people asking me for favours, or anything of the sort, be it strangers or not. Ever since I've been able to afford lazing about, I've lost all and any motivation when it comes to most things, if not all things, that asking me to do something would be like asking a sloth to run. I don't like being pressured over trivial things; it's unnecessary stress over detrimental affairs.

All in all, I am currently, and possibly the most unreliable person there is, and I definitely don't see myself putting in the least bit of effort to change this, not even for lonely Larry.

... or was it Garry?

"Have a fun walk?"

I glanced up, relaxing further at the welcoming smiles of the Harrisons as they glanced down at me with a gentle look I'd often seen Miss Kathie wear when she thought no one was watching look at the kids she took care of, myself included. Stepping away from the door, I dragged my feet and settled on the last step of the spiral staircase, giving a shrug as I reached into the bag hanging from my shoulder for my trusty board and marker.

_It was all right. I did meet a strange man, though. He was very persistent._

Mr. Arnold's eyes widened in horror at the news. "What?! Who? Where?! What man?!"

I blinked, mildly startled by his reaction; it was a sudden and stark contrast to his previously calm and collected composure. It hadn't been long that I was here, but I was quick to discover Mr. Arnold was quite overprotective over those close to him, myself now included. Honestly, though, I didn't really mind; it was a pleasant nice change from my previous lifestyle.

I glanced back at the man, feeling a tad bit... amused by the sudden panic that pushed him toward a subconsciously exaggerated reaction and pointed to the door as I brandished my board again.

_Outside._

Mrs. Merilyn watched with a small smile on her face, seemingly just as amused, as Mr. Arnold ran out and about in a furious search for the strange, mysterious man who was far gone, from what I could see.

"This week will be quite a busy one," she mused. "But things will be much calmer starting next Friday."

Placing a hand on my shoulder, she leaned down ever so slightly as she gazed down at me. "We actually have a play-date planned with the neighbours next Saturday."

I blinked, a tad bit fazed by the news as I suddenly recalled the earlier words of the mysterious man.

"They have a son and a nephew your age, and maybe you'll make great friends with them. How does that sound?"

My eyes shifted back to the door, gazing beyond it, past Mr. Arnold at the house right across the street from us.

How does that sound?

_It sounds like words._

... and a lot of effort.

Mrs. Merilyn laughed, seeming to find humour in my words. I was utterly serious though—

Do you have any idea how much work it is to socialize?


	7. 2½ - Another Cursed Child

**May 12, 1989**

The Doctor huffed. "Why have I still not sought out someone else to take care of _these_ pregnant women going into labour."

"I _have_ suggested it to you before," her assistant hummed. "Many times, actually; since it became a regular thing a decade ago."

"Shut it, Nadia," the Doctor grumbled. "Gods, I should've brought Yenn instead... C'mon, Claire, just a few more pu—"

"Why do you keep calling me that?! That's not even my— aaaaahhhh!"

"Clara, Claire— semantics," the Doctor waved her off.

"Have you ever even done this before?!" the pregnant woman shrieked.

The Doctor deadpanned. "You do realize you're speaking to the person who delivered your twins, right?"

Malvalla Williams paused for a moment, blinking. "Oh, right."

"What are you stopping for— keep pushing!" the Doctor snapped before asking Nadia, "Where's the father?! Or the Aldens! And please tell me her twin aren't listening at the door."

Nadia gave her a look. "You're not going to start cursing, are you?"

"I don't curse."

"Yes, you do. Every day."

The Doctor scoffed. "I _swear_ ; there's a difference," she countered with a nonchalant shrug. "And if the father's on the way, then there's no reason for me to—"

Without any warning, a loud _CRACK!_ resounded throughout the house and echoed out unto the neighbourhood as a flash-blinding light blinded the people in the room while a transparent, silvery force simultaneously burst throughout the room, rattling the equipment prepped about whilst the owner of said equipment was blasted back into a wall with so much force it nearly broke under the impact, her own vision blurring at the hit.

"FUCK!"

Nadia blinked, startled, flashing out of the room in a second, scooping up the curious twins into her arms and dropping them at their father's feet as soon as the disoriented man set foot into the household before flashing back into the previous room, only to be greeted by a familiar sight... and familiar, _colourful_ words.

"Crappin'— shit— fuck— son of a— bullshittin'— fuckin'— ass-shittin'— _FUCK—_ "

Nadia grimaced."Na—"

"THIS IS THE SECOND TIME I WAS STRUCK BY SOME _SHITTING_ THING CAUSED BY A _BABY_ THAT HASN'T EVEN LEFT ITS MOTHER'S WOMB!" the Doctor screeched, dark face reddened with pain as she clutched her smoking chest, prompting another grimace from her assistant. "I WILL SWEAR HOWEVER GODDAMN MUCH I WANT! AH! FUCK, THAT HURTS!!! WHY THE FUCK IS IT ALWAYS ME— _FUUUUUCK_ , I'M TURNING INTO A FUCKIN' _NEVILLE_!!!"

"Is my baby gonna be a wizard?" Malvalla asked eagerly, almost forgetting she was literally in the middle of giving birth until the pain of it snapped her back to reality, only mildly swayed from her hopeful thoughts.

"How come this one's excited about that?" Nadia wondered in disbelief. "The last one was nearly in tears over the mere possibility of her daughter being a mutant of sort! And the babe's a girl— how would she be a _wizard_?"

"Witch then," the woman corrected herself before gasping, her eyes sparkling with wonder and excitement. "Will we get a letter from Hogwarts in eleven years?!"

"How do you know about Hogwarts!" Doctor and assistant exclaimed before the former backtracked.

"Wait..."

"How are you surprised about this?! You know everything!" Nadia admonished.

"Da-da-da," the Doctor interjected as she stumbled to her feet. " _Nearly_ everything."

"Is my baby gonna be a witch?" Malvalla repeated.

"That is the last thing you should be worrying about," Nadia retorted. "Na—"

The Doctor rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Just get the cleaning area ready—"

"It already is."

"No more playing around; I'm getting that baby out now."

Nadia gave her a look. "Are you sure you can still do this? You took quite a hit."

The Doctor scoffed. "When has that ever stopped me?"

"Good point."

"Let's just get this over with already," the Doctor growled. "Claire—"

"That's not—"

"No one cares right now!" the Doctor snapped. "I'm pissed, and I'm tired, and in desperate need of a shower! Now, unless you want to remain with a baby stuck halfway out of your vagina, I suggest you push now!"

"Graphic!"

"Just do it!"

"I got i—aaaaahhhh!"

"C'mon, the head's beginning to show!"

"Only?!"

The Doctor grunted as another burst of energy tried to force her back, but she remained put. "Just push!"

"Aaaaahhhh!"

"Mor—"

"STOP SCREAMING AT ME!!" The young mother burst into tears. "THAT'S NOT GOING TO—"

" _Wuaaaahhhh!_ "

"Push!"

" _GODS_ , I HATE YOU ALL!"

"What did I do?!" Nadia complained.

"YOU WORK FOR HER!!!"

Nadia pouted. " _With_ her," she corrected.

"SAME DIFFERENCE!!"

"Oh, just shut up and push!" the Doctor yelled.

"You shut— aaaahhhh!"

"C'mon, Malvalla, just a bit more— the head's completely out! Just give me... three more pushes! Remember, breathe in, breathe out, count to three, and push!"

With an angry grimace, the mother huffed a few more heavy breaths before giving three more pushes she was instructed to make, the relief from the pain almost instant as soon as the newborn had been brought out from between her legs, too exhausted, herself, to wonder where such a relieving effect was coming from.

"... why is it always three?" Nadia wondered.

"Three is the magic number," said the two other women in unison.

They blankly looked over at each other, both dirty, sweating and dishevelled. After a moment's pause, they simultaneously cracked a smile before chuckling. Turning to her assistant, as had become routine for the two, she carefully placed the newborn into Nadia's awaiting arms, the latter of which was gone in mere seconds.

"The pain..." Malvalla remarked, feeling light and dazed. "How'd you do it?"

The Doctor blinked, mildly surprised; a rather rare thing for her to express. "How'd you know?"

"Hogwarts. I didn't think it would be real, but your surprise at my mention of it confirmed it," she replied. " _You_... you're not from here either, are you?"

The Doctor smiled slightly at the woman. "You're the first to figure it out on your own so quickly."

Malvalla cracked another smile. "Well, it _did_ take me giving birth twice, but..."

They both chuckled.

"Really, though," she continued, her face and tone turning serious as her gaze flitted to the door. "What is her fate? You seem to know lots of this stuff... seemed to have been here a while and discovered so much..."

"What makes you think something bad will happen?"

"I never said "something bad" but... will it?"

It was at that moment that Nadia had reappeared inside the room, staring blankly at the women, surprised by the quick turn the conversation took. She went practically unnoticed until she walked forward and forcibly, though carefully placed the babe into the Doctor's arms for the general procedure.

Without so much as a lift of a finger, a mixture of a gold- and silver-coloured glow whisked up from the mere contact, blasting into the air in the shape of a... circle— no, a moon right above the pair before bursting apart, raining down like pixie dust, blanketing the small figure sleeping soundly in her arms.

Malvalla blinked. "Is my baby gonna be a werewolf?"

Nadia rolled her eyes, exasperated.

"I'd rather my family didn't have to deal with _that_..." Then, Malvalla's hazel eyes suddenly widened, horror-struck. "Oh, God, please tell me she won't get into some bullshit involving sparkling vampires and shape-shifting Native Americans that aren't really werewolves!"

The Doctor blinked, snapping back to reality, only to deadpan at the woman's words. Then, a slightly sardonic smile curled its way onto her lips as she introduced the woman to her newborn.

"I believe congratulations are in order," she mused as she approached the sat women, carefully placing the babe in her arms. "You are now the proud mother of _another_ cursed child."

Malvalla blinked, staring blankly at the Doctor.

"Oh, fuck me!"

"Language," the Doctor teased. "So, what's the name, Claire?"

Malvalla remained silent for a moment, pouting like a child on a time-out before she found herself melting at the sight of her slumbering child. A small smile creased onto her lips as she caressed her pink, plump cheek.

"We were thinking of going with Milarayne," a voice spoke from the entrance, catching the women's attention.

"Peter," the Doctor inclined her head to one side, crossing her arms over her chest. "About time."

Peter Williams gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head as the twins let go of his legs and rushed toward their mother as the man was left alone to apologize.

"So, Milarayne?" said Nadia. "Quite unusual."

"My folks died when I was young and was put almost instantly in the system, where, actually, Claire and I met."

The Doctor raised a brow at the young mother. " _Claire_?"

The latter rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush you."

"We were adopted by a really nice couple that took care of us like no one before."

"Mila was our mother's name," said Mal— _Claire._

Nadia blinked at the name. "... small world," she mumbled. "You're siblings?"

"Not actually," Peter said quickly. "We're not related, nor did we ever actually see each other as siblings."

Nadia shrugged. "Not judging— love is love; I was just surprised by... well, _this_. What about the "Rayne" part?"

"Rayne Willas— Mom's mother," Claire supplied. "After Mila passed, and their kids disappeared, her husband, Theodore... he wasn't completely stable, so Rayne took us in until we were old enough to live on our own. By that time, I was already pregnant these wonderful trouble makers."

The twins giggled from their mother's bedside.

"We figured since our first two were already named after our actual parents, might as well for someone we care about," said Peter.

"It's a beautiful name." The Doctor smiled.

"It is, isn't it?" Claire smiled. "Milarayne... Rayla..."

The Doctor blinked. "Er... what?"

"Aliska—"

The Doctor and Nadia deadpanned at the young mother.

"Blaze... Williams."

The two women shared a look, then simultaneously glanced over at the father, the latter of which gave them a shrug as well as another sheepish look.

"... I tried to stop her."

The Doctor stared, unimpressed. "The hatred, it's global."


	8. 3 - Trials and Traditions

**July 2** **4** **, 1989**

**No one's P.O.V.**

"Up! Get up! Now!"

He awoke with a start at the sound of his aunt rapping on the door again, her call but a screech to his ears.

"Up!" she shrieked.

He heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. Rolling tiredly onto his back, he tried to remember the dream he'd had been having, or rather dream _s_. They had been quite the good ones. There had been a flying motorcycle in it in the first. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

The second had been a rather sweet one he couldn't remember ever having before; it was of him as a baby, surely no older than a year, if perhaps only a few months old. He sat with who he could only imagine was his first friend. That was a nice thought; having a friend, if only once, long ago.

The thought that he may have just had one once brought warmth to his heart.

From the very vague description his aunt had once given him of his parents, he could easily pick them out among the adults he'd dreamt of. His mother, a gorgeous redheaded woman whose eyes he shared, and his father, a tall man with dark hair— they looked nothing like the degenerates his uncle and aunt made them out to be. And the woman sitting by them, he could only deduce was his... _friend_ 's mother; they looked every bit alike, except for the hair and the fact that one was a baby, while the other was a fully grown woman.

The third woman, he had no idea who it was; he could recall a few other dreams he'd had with her in it, but she was too much a mystery to figure out. Thinking a little further, she actually reminded him of that nice doctor over at Waterfield Practice— _his_ _D_ octor; pretty, motherly and kind, always looking after him. Sometimes, he admittedly wondered what it would be like if he lived with someone like her instead of his aunt and uncle. Or what if he lived with her— he'd reckon it would be load better than anything else.

He'd asked her a few times, playing it off as curiosity, if she would be able to adopt someone with a guardian. It was a complicated affair, she'd told him. These things take time, even with all the evidence in the world. But, she'd then reassure him things would get better soon. That there will come a day where his world would turn around, and he wouldn't want anything else. Then she would spoil him with treats, like his aunt and uncle did with his cousin.

Till that day came, however, he liked mulling his mind over such things, especially after a day like the one he'd had the previous afternoon; it had been his cousin's birthday, and like always, the older boy's aunt Marge had come with that stupid dog of hers.

Harry had found early on, on his cousin's fifth birthday, that the woman all but despised him. Admittedly, the feeling was very mutual; he had enough favouritism to endure, with his aunt and uncle borderline abusing him while openly dotting on their son. Literally, it took everything in him not to run off to Waterfield Practice to see the Doctor.

God knows they wouldn't mind getting rid of him.

Seriously, they only ever paid attention to him when it was most convenient to them, and otherwise acted as though he did not exist. With a family like that, he would much rather pretend they didn't exist either... and run off to his Doctor...

"Are you up yet?!"

Alas, that would never happen.

He grimaced at the pain in his ribs. "Nearly..."

"Well, get a move on, I want you to throw out the garbage and get ready; we're going to have guests in about an hour."

He groaned. Guests this early? Who would want to come at this ungodly hour?

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

He reached for his glasses and slid them on before glancing over at the time on the analog clock with a broken screen by his bedside and noticed it was actually _past_ noon; wow, this was, perhaps, the first time _ever_ that his aunt and uncle had been generous enough to let him sleep in. Usually, he was first to be forced awake at nearly six in the morning. Must be a small day of miracles, today.

The boy sighed softly through his nose as he pushed himself further up, careful not to hit his head with the low, diagonal ceiling as he rubbed his eyes underneath his round spectacles.

Guests— how could he have forgotten?

Slowly, he got out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. He was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was finally dressed, he went down the hall into the kitchen where the big bag of garbage awaited him. The table was almost hidden beneath a whole lot of plates and food. It looked as though they were going to have a lot of guests— hopefully, no one his age who would want to help his cousin with his beatings. His cousin's favourite punching bag was him, but he couldn't often catch him.

He didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but he had always been small and skinny for his age. He was now eight years old, yet he looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of his cousin's, and that boy was about four times bigger than he was himself. He didn't mind much how he looked, but the only thing he could find himself liking about his own appearance was the very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it for as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his aunt was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

 _Don't ask questions_ — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

He stood there staring at the table, dreamily as his stomach lowly grumbled.

"Harry, go take out the trash!" his aunt yelled.

He sighed and grabbed the garbage bag, cursing in his head. He turned to look at the clock and felt his eyes widen in shock. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. He groaned again, tightening his grip on the bag; he should've woken up earlier, then he would've had enough time to visit his Doctor one last time before she left town. He didn't know when she would return, nor if she would return, for she had not let him know any details about her suddenly scheduled departure. Then again, it wasn't really his business; it's not like they were related. Nope. Unfortunately, he was related to these... _bastards_ instead.

His Doctor had a very... _colourful_ vocabulary.

 _Ugh!_ _I just hate this! I hate these people and this neighbourhood! I wish I had a friend_ _..._ _just one that wouldn't tease or bully me._

He dragged the trash outside because it was too heavy for him to actually lift. He lifted the lid and chucked the rubbish bag in the bin when he suddenly heard an engine of a car and looked up to find a cherry red truck pull up in front of the house right in front of theirs. He heard a door close lightly before the car moved again to finally park into its garage.

He strained his neck to see who was walking out of the car now and he saw a man come out. He looked quite depressed. Confused, he narrowed his eyes, trying to see who was the person that had gotten out of the car before. He looked around though he tried not to look creepy when he saw a somewhat sickly-looking woman walking about, accompanied by the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his entire life.

She was wearing a dark-coloured dress that fell to her feet with a black windbreaker hanging from her shoulders, its hood covering her head though he could still catch a glimpse of her dark hair and pallid skin that was slightly dark, like a light brown colour that had paled from the odd frisky weather that had greeted them early this late July.

She had wandered off from the woman's side to stand in front of a big tree in the side yard of her house, staring up at it in wonder. She looked up at the sky for a moment, closing her eyes, her hood falling off and revealing a long river of jet-black hair highlighted with a few chocolate strands here and about, her mane falling just a few inches past her shoulders.

He stood there, gazing at her in awe with his mouth hanging open, merely jumping back, startled, when she suddenly looked down and met his gaze, making him realize just how unsubtly he had been staring. He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks as she stared at him with striking, odd-coloured eyes. As much as he tried, he couldn't tear his gaze from her, and she seemed to not be planning on doing so either. She tilted her head to the side, watching him curiously.

Sense and knowledge screamed at him to turn away and go back inside, but he stayed put and so did she as he felt a burst of warmth filling his insides and a faint pulling sensation tugged at his chest. Nearly shaking in his sneakers, he took a step towards her, then hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do, though he knew that all he really wanted right now was to just look at her. However, he had no more time to contemplate the girl's physical appearance, since a woman had begun shouting.

"Lily? Sweetheart, are you still out there? Come in here already; I don't want you catching a cold!"

She seemed baffled by the way she was addressed as she, too, hesitated, for a moment, before she sighed ever so silently and made her way into the house, quietly shutting the door behind her.

He suddenly felt cold as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He wondered where she had come from, and how long she had been living right across the street from him. Certainly not his whole life; he would have noticed _her_ by now.

She must have just moved in. But why? This place was dull as a rock, with the only form of excitement in his life being his dreams. For no reason whatsoever, he found himself wanting to find out more about her. It felt so comforting to realize that there may be somebody else on Privet Drive, somebody who wouldn't scorn at the sight of him and gossip about his strange habits behind closed windows, that he almost felt excited.

Hopefully, she wouldn't move anytime soon. Maybe then, the rest of his life here wouldn't be so bad after all. He hadn't even spoken to her yet, but he knew she couldn't be anything like the Dursleys... maybe they would even end up becoming friends. In that instant, he decided that the next time he saw her outside that he would introduce himself.

He grimaced as he went to clean the kitchen.

"Should we invite them to come in now?" his aunt asked her husband. "Dinner is almost ready, and I do believe this will be the perfect time to get to know them better— a little talk before our meal."

He felt so bad for whichever neighbours they were talking about. If they have to come here, they'll see all this evil monstrosity.

"Boy! Booooy!" shouted his uncle. "Go call the neighbours upfront for dinner!"

He growled under his breath then made his way to the door, but then he stopped for a second. His heart somersaulted as he recalled that the girl he saw earlier is the neighbour from upfront. He smiled and happily made his way to their door and knocked.

The door opened a few seconds later, revealing the girl he saw earlier. He couldn't help but blush as he noticed how much prettier she looked up close. She looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to speak, which he kind of forgot to since he was just staring at her. He internally sighed in relief when she didn't seem creeped out by that.

"Hello," he said, though it came out a bit strangled.

He cursed himself in his head, but then felt his heart flip again when he noticed her lips twitched slightly, seemingly almost curling into a smile. She nodded as if she were returning the greeting.

"My name's Harry, and I live with my aunt and uncle across the street. We were wondering if you lot would like to come over now? Dinner is almost ready anyway, and... well... so... yeah..." he trailed off, gazing up at her, hopeful.

She stared at him a moment longer with a slight twinkle in her eyes, then held up a finger and quickly ran off inside, leaving the door open. A few seconds later, she ran back and nodded again, prompting him to smile and sigh in relief before turning around and heading back to his prison cell.

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes sitting on the floor in the corner of the living room when the doorbell suddenly rang.

"Boy! Get the door!" his uncle shouted.

He sighed softly as he got up and lazily made his way to the door. He put on a fake smile when he greeted a really tall man who seemed to be in his thirties. Beside him stood a very pretty woman with blond hair, smiling kindly down at him. His smile only became genuine, however, as soon his eyes settled on _the_ girl standing right behind the woman, her hand, seemingly absentmindedly, clinging to the skirt of the woman's dress.

She looked at him and blinked, her face momentarily flushing a pretty pink under his gaze as she regarded him curiously before she turned and ran off into the yard of her home. Harry was caught between hurt and shock; hurt from her running away, but shocked at the adorableness she'd displayed, wondering whether she had perhaps blushed because of him. _I hoped she did— wait!_ What was he saying? He's only eight years old!

He sighed and stepped aside, letting the couple— the Harrisons inside.

Mr. Harrison had been having a deep conversation with his uncle while Harry sat by the window looking out at the girl who was standing by the same tree she had been admiring earlier. He sighed dreamily though feeling his heart shatter as he saw the sad look on her face.

"Harry!"

He groaned and made his way back to the kitchen where his aunt was calling him.

Once he got there, Mrs. Harrison looked down at him and sent him a small smile. "Hello there, young man, could you be so kind as to go out and get my daughter?"

For a moment there, he was struck by the pretty blush that crept onto the woman's cheeks upon referring to the girl as her daughter. It wasn't as cute as it had been on said girl, but it was quite the sight. As he looked at her more closely and threw one hesitant glance over his shoulder at her husband, he was caught in the fact that the girl— their "daughter"— looked nothing like either of them.

While her hair was a mixture of two things that could bring anyone comfort— night and chocolate— Mrs. Harrison was a petite pretty blonde, standing feet shorter than her ridiculously tall husband whose hair was a hat of deep red, the shade of sweet pepper. While the couple of Harrisons looked every bit normal with no peculiarity about them but their height difference, the Missus gazing down at him with pretty blue eyes, her husband withholding a cooler, plainer colour that was a nearly silver-gray hue, the girl's eyes were a strange mixture of orange and pink. They didn't seem to suit her, though they were still very pretty.

As he thought about her, it occurred to him she would look nicer with deep brown eyes, or perhaps even a pretty shade of purple. Purple was an odd choice, but either it or blue would look great on her, be it in her eyes, or something she wore. The boy suddenly blushed at the numerous thoughts he had of someone he'd _just_ met. He didn't even know what her name was, and already he was fantasizing about her. How embarrassing.

"She's right outside, by our yard," Mrs. Harrison told him, and he couldn't help but nod eagerly before all but running out of the house to find the girl he had no doubt would be plaguing his dreams from then on.

As soon as he was out, he looked at her and found her sitting in front of the tree, her arms wrapped around her legs, hugging them to her chest, her chin resting on her knees as she gazed up at the big tree. She averted her gaze to him, sideways as she heard him approaching.

"Erm... hi. Again," he began, nervously scratching the back of his neck. Her lips twitched yet again. "Erm... your... mum... said to come in, my aunt finished with dinner. It's ready."

She nodded and got up, gracefully passing in front of him and making her way towards the house, leaving him rather dumbstruck; he had never seen anyone walk ever so gracefully before.

He stumbled after her then tripped over his own feet, falling face-first onto the ground, his glasses falling off. He groaned, knowing he probably embarrassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world... or, at least, the most beautiful one he'd ever seen; he didn't get out much. Clenching his jaw, he reached a hand out for his glasses. Once he found them, he put them on and as soon as he could see clearly again, he closed his eyes and felt his face flush red.

He _had_ just embarrassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

He stayed there and waited until she was gone. When he didn't hear anything anymore other than the chirping birds and the whistling wind, he hesitated before his eyes suddenly snapped open upon feeling something hard poking tentatively at his shoulder. He blinked twice then thrice before lifting his gaze only to find himself staring at a pair of black converse shoes.

Glancing to his right, he noticed a long tree branch was what had poked at his shoulder, and following the trail of it to what was holding it up, Harry was startled and rather shocked to find the girl still there, holding her other hand out to him.

His heart somersaulted yet again as he took her hand and blushed, feeling sparks shoot through his hand up to his arm, as she helped him up before throwing the branch to the side, where no one would get hurt with it. Face beet red to the roots of his head, the boy's gaze dropped to the ground, clearly embarrassed. Suddenly, something in the grassy patch beside him caught his eye and he instinctively knelt down and plucked the pretty thing from its hearth, standing back up and holding it out to the pretty girl.

The girl stared at him wordlessly, for a moment, her face giving nothing away. After another second's pause, she reached a hand up and plucked the flower from his hand, holding the pretty thing up to her nose, eyes fluttering shut as she inhaled the comforting and somewhat familiar scent.

The boy found himself, yet again, mesmerized by the pretty girl, seemingly not even realizing it when she took his hand once more and gently pulled him towards the house, neither once noticing two figures hidden behind the darkened shades of a brand new black Corvette, watching as the pair of walked silently, though seemingly content, along the walkway before entering the house.

"They are alone," the person settled comfortably in the passenger seat commented, voice tinged with a faint Bulgarian accent.

Awaiting any sort of reaction, the Bulgarian glanced over to her companion sitting behind the wheel, watching on with a clear look of sadness on her face, a glint of fondness twinkling in her bright eyes as she smiled ever so slightly, seemingly amused as she'd watched the boy instinctively pluck the purple dahlia that had suddenly sprouted from the ground and give it to the girl.

"Many are," was the driver's vague response.

The passenger sighed, a tad bit irritated with her companion's cryptic responses. "They could use a guiding hand, right about now, and you know well enough that is _your_ job, whether limited or not. When will you stop watching and finally approach them?"

"When the time is right."

The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And, pray tell, when will that be?"

Fiery golden eyes glimmered in the darkness of the vehicle as its owner reignited the engine and prepped the car for departure, flipping the radio on as the windows rolled down automatically.

"The time will arrive when _I_ do."

The Bulgarian woman glanced over at her companion, eyes curious by not daring to pry any further as she instantly deciphered the resolve in the latter's eyes.

" _They_ don't need me right _now_ ; they have each other."

The passenger smiled slightly, respecting her words, agreeing with them wholeheartedly.

"Hmm; sometimes, that's all that's really needed."

With one last look at the suburban house, the black Corvette pulled out from its spot and rolled away, _Sweet Child O' Mine_ striking the usually quiet neighbourhood with a shock at the rough and very loud instrumental it carried, gradually fading out into the distance.

Surprisingly, the burst of a song was not enough to burst little Harry from his temporary bliss as he walked into the house with the very pretty girl at his side. He didn't, once, let go of her hand and was more than happy when he saw that that wasn't her intention either as they entered the house. When they made it to the kitchen, she was pretty much bombarded by his aunt.

"Hello, sweetie. I'm Petunia, this is Vernon, and this is Dudley," she said in a kind voice he had never heard her use with anyone but his annoying cousin.

There was a slight tickle at the back of their heads, each felt ever so discreetly yet simultaneously before an unfamiliar voice spoke up. The voice was so soft, it was nearly a whisper, and yet it was so clear and ringing high like that of a soprano singer, resonating like a silvery bell, despite the very monotonous, almost deadpanning tone it spoke in.

" _Hello_ _._ "

Harry blinked, startled upon finding the voice was coming from the girl beside him whose name he had yet know. His shock shot over the roof, however, when he noticed her lips had not moved. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

Had he just imagined that?

The girl forced a smile, he noticed, was not at all genuine when it didn't reach her eyes; it almost looked like it hurt her just doing it. The resulting grimace in the smile's stead was proof of that, if anything. Nonetheless, it left them all dumbstruck, including poor little Harry; the boy was utterly smitten.

" _My name is..._ Lilah _._ "

All present jumped, startled when Petunia clapped her hands together. "Well, aren't you the cutest thing!" she cooed.

Yes. His aunt, uncle (surprise, surprise; that man never liked anyone) and... Dudley liked her, but he remained satisfied as it was clear in her beautiful eyes that the feeling wasn't mutual from her side.

At least she seemed to tolerate him, but that wasn't enough because sadly he surely wouldn't ever see her again.

**September 1, 1989**

Lilah, as she called herself, was a rather nice girl— peculiar, but nice. So were the Harrisons, of course, inviting him over to their house whenever the Dursleys would choose to go out. They'd found out they would often leave Harry with another one of their neighbours, but as soon as they found it was a _very_ old lady taking care— not really— of him whenever, they took it upon themselves to all but adopt him into their family whenever the Dursleys would leave him.

 _The Doctor might've been gone_ _,_ _for now, but the boy wasn't so lonely anymore._

It had been so, three weeks within knowing them, that Harry found out Lilah _i_ _s_ , in fact, mute. He'd always found her to be very nice, but also a mystery that continuously befuddled him. This discovery left him even more perturbed, for then...

How had she spoken that day they'd met when she'd introduced herself to them?

Harry was never one for mysteries, for he was never allowed to pursue any target of his curiosity, but Lilah was one mystery he wanted to solve, and he wasn't about to let anyone keep him from doing just that. His time, however, would be cut short when he would start school again, and his hell would expand all the way there. But not for long.

The first of September of that very year would be one he would come to cherish for a very long time. That first day back to school had not begun well for him. Like any other day at home, Dudley made his life impossible. It didn't help he _somehow_ had a friend of his own that helped him torment the poor boy.

It wasn't until lunchtime, that day, that things began to change for him.

Like any other school day, Harry sat in one corner, alone. His lunch was but an apple, a banana, a plain cup of yogurt and a piece of bread with butter. They never fed him much at home, but it was better than not being fed at all, so he never complained. He never complained about his seating either; Harry didn't have any friends. He was unpopular, and yet known enough that nearly everyone who knew of him would make an effort to get out of their way and bully him because they thought it was fun.

Every year, Harry would hope things would change. Then, like every other year, his hope would be squashed like a bug on a windshield when he'd find himself being chased around by the fat boy that was his cousin. As per usual, the boy would have his fair advantage, being smaller and quicker but, then, his clumsiness would get the better of him and he would trip over his own feet, throwing his advantageous opportunity out the window, leaving it open enough for Dudley to lunge his fat body over him.

Then, the rest of his gang would join, as they were doing presently, holding him down while Dudley punched. Harry groaned; there was that pain again. This time, however, as Dudley went to throw another punch at him, a smaller hand caught his fist and pulled it back hard, making him fall. Harry looked up, and that was when his world changed.

She rolled her eyes at the large boy upon noticing his difficulties at getting back up, glaring them down.

"Oooh, sticking up for 'itty Har-Har!" one of Dudley's friends said.

Harry's face flushed with embarrassment at the nickname they'd dubbed him with.

"You've got an admirer, _Har-Har_!" another said.

Suddenly, Harry was shaken out of his embarrassment when he heard the girl utter a rather startling growl. Though she did not speak, the intention behind her reaction was quite clear. _Leave. Him. Alone._

But they were idiots, as much as they were bullies; they weren't going to listen.

"No."

She let out an exasperated sigh before her face suddenly lit up in a mischievous way. Her eyes remained emotionless, though her lips that never _truly_ smiled curled into something akin to a smirk as she crossed her arms over her chest. The whole room went deadly silent as everyone turned to look at her.

They then jumped when she suddenly burst into a fit of silent laughter, shocking them all as the visibly dainty girl who was clearly anything but, audibly snorted a few times, the sound of it coming off as an adorable little wheeze.

" _A group of fat boys are bullying a_ _small_ _boy. What a bunch of losers._ " Her tone, though very robotic, was laced with unmeasurable boredom, but Harry was stuck on the fact that, yet again, he caught her speaking while her lips had not once parted.

It took a few more minutes for Dudley to finally get up before he menacingly approached her... or as menacing as a nine-year-old could be. Harry began to panic.

"What did you say?"

" _Wow! I said that_ "loud" _and clear and you did not hear me. You are not only losers but also deaf. Or are you so dumb that your brain did not even process what I said?_ "

Harry had to give it to her, she was brave, but did she seriously want to die young?!

"Who are you? Don't you know who I am—" But she cut him off.

" _Who am I? Well_ _,_ _let us see, shall we?_ " She put a finger up to her chin and got into a thinking pose. " _Okay._ _..._ _well_ _,_ _last I checked, my name was_ Lilah Harrison _, I am your neighbour from upfront— the one you have been relentlessly ogling for quite some time now (honestly; you_ _a_ _re nine, you should_ _no_ _t even have a tinge of your mind in the gutter...)_ _._

 _M_ _y_ father _is a lawyer, his best friend is a police officer, his other best friend is_ _... ironically_ _a_ _rather clever_ _criminal, my_ mother _'s best friend is a judge_ _..._ _Oh!_ And _my_ grandfather _is the principal of this school and his_ _great-_ _grandfather before him the founder. How about you? Who are you?_ "

Neither Harry nor Lilah had seemed to notice how she had verbally— or was it verbally?— acknowledged her clearly adoptive family as, well, her family, for both were too busy being amused at Dudley's look of disbelief before he ran away, the rest of his friends trailing behind him. Harry turned back to look at her and just like the other day, she was holding her hand out to him. He eagerly grabbed it and she effortlessly helped him up. They looked at the gang who was tripping while running so slowly. They looked back at each other for a brief second before they both burst into fits of laughter, _Lilah_ silent and smile-less as ever, though her eyes seemed to glimmer for what seemed like the first time.

They couldn't stop. The next thing he knew, she was _actually_ rolling on the floor, still uttering that "silent," wheezing little laughter of hers while he was clutching his sides laughing as well as the rest of the cafeteria. That was the best day of his life.

The day he became friends with Lilah Harrison.

Ha, no, it wasn't instantaneous at all. However, it wasn't a sluggish occurrence either.

**Same day, later after school**

She stared at the tall man before her, blinking mutely as she caught him just as he was about to leave the house the instant she unlocked the door with her key.

"Lilah," Mr. Arnold greeted her, seemingly surprised and relieved at seeing her. "Where have you been?"

The girl deadpanned. " _Where has your head been? I went to school today._ "

The man gave a sheepish chuckle as he took her bag from her, stepping aside as she entered the house. "Oh, that's right. You were to start today."

She shrugged a shoulder as she kicked off her shoes into the rack beneath the coat hanger. " _In other words, I am all done forever._ "

He chuckled again, patting her head. "I'm afraid you have to go tomorrow too."

She blinked, looking up at him. " _Why?_ " She glanced around, eyes trailing to her bag in his hand. " _Did I forget something?_ "

"Lilah, sweetheart, school is an everyday thing."

Her bland eyes widened with a tinge of horror, her board inching up into his field of view. _Everyday?_

"Well, Mondays through Fridays, but—"

" _Why?_ "

The man deadpanned; it was getting harder and harder to answer this repetitive question of hers.

"... because life is a bitch that demands to learn how to handle her."

"Arnold!" He yelped. "Stop teaching her those words, you son of a bitch!"

"You're one to talk, wench!"

Lilah blinked as she watched the generally very loving couple roll into a screaming match, a tinge of amusement sparkling in her eyes at their weird argument. Oh, there goes a flying plate.

Suddenly, she was picked up from her underarms and carried toward the door.

"Honey, baby— how would you feel about going to the market? I'll buy you lots of chocolate if you accept."

She usually wasn't one to be bribed, but... it's chocolate.

Choosing to push past the nickname she came to dislike, she inclined her head and shrugged a shoulder as he placed her back onto her feet and lead her by the hand to his car.

" _Can we ride up the moving stairs?_ "

"They're called escalators, sweets. And, of course! Anything you want, you name it—"

" _Lifetime supply of chocolate, and no school._ "

"— except that."

"Where do you think you're going, you bastard?!"

Oh, and there goes a shoe flying.

"Aahhh!"

The Harrisons are odd, but there's never a dull day with them.

**September 8, 1989**

Her eyes snapped upward as she was suddenly hauled into the most deadpanning moment, her dark, yet bright-coloured eyes staring blandly into a pair of emerald orbs as her spoon full of seasoned noodles remained stuffed between her lips from where she sat on the toilet seat of the "little girls' room."

" _I do believe the one next door is the one for boys_ ," a monotonous voice echoed in the back of his head as the girl sat before him pointed to her left, referring to the washroom next door, past the many cubicles from hers.

The boy couldn't even find it in himself to make sense of anything else, as his mind was stuck on the fact that his somewhat popular introvert of a classmate was eating lunch in a toilet stall.

All but slamming the door as he turned stiffly on his toes, the poor boy stumbled to the line of sinks, seemingly more shaken than he had previously been. It was a dream, right? It must be— he'll be back in his right mind after a quick wash...

And she was suddenly behind him, and the water spluttered past him in his fright, drenching her head to toe.

"Ah! I'm so sor—"

And he was suddenly on top of her stiff form, on the ground, having slipped and fallen forward from the growing puddle on the ground.

"Ahh!" he yelped, only calming down when he noticed her lack of reaction as she continued to stare blandly up at him.

There was a moment of silence threading above them as they remained so, the girl too listless to put any effort in getting up, and the boy too frightened of what might happen next, for his bad luck seemed on high alert that day.

"... _this is still the girls' room,_ " was her only response before the door to the washroom swung open, and one of the female instructors stalked inside— one of the meaner old hags— followed by mean ol' Duds and his little posse.

Now, she wasn't generally curious, but she found that with him— definitely _not_ _Duds_ — she was most alert. Most attentive— he held her attention, whether she tried to swerve it the other way or not. It was some sort of gravitational feeling, really; since the day they had met, there wasn't a day that went by without feeling a slight relief within her at the mere sight of him. They didn't talk— or rather, he was quieter than she had expected; she was just her plain, mute self.

Truly, she wasn't sure what to expect of this boy that seemed like a frightened fawn anywhere he was.

She could understand at school; his cousin was a brute with so little brain cells, she was surprised he wasn't in a special class of sorts. She wasn't the smartest herself, but she had been studying intensively since she could afford it as soon as she had been welcomed into Bellefaire, despite the clear listlessness that seemed to suddenly consume her as soon as she was well settled. Mr. Banner hadn't exactly been intermittent in their study sessions either, so she was quick to catch up to the level of those her age.

Point being, she understood his nerve-wracking state in school; because of his "popular" cousin (something that was utterly beyond her), most of their schoolmates either looked at him funny or acted as though he didn't exist. And the teachers, much like the one that had stormed in and yanked him forcibly out and down the corridor, labelled him as the problem when clearly it wasn't him, but the brute, and twig and stump the latter called parents— what an odd sight that pair was.

She understood this state of outcasting; with the Adams and any of their packmates that knew of her, they either hauled her and threw her about like dogs with a toy they wished to break in, put the blame of anything that ever went wrong with them on her, or merely ignored her existence altogether, with the exception of the younger female Adams, and Alessia's mate, who seemed to be the only other decent werewolf in existence.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what it was about his home that had him looking just as upset and frightful as he seemed in school. What it was that made his brute of a cousin such a... well, a brute. Surely his aunt and uncle would discipline their son at least a little bit, right? Despite sharing their home with the orphan boy, they almost seemed like the perfect family, if you ignored the obvious rivalry between the cousins— or rather the obvious bullying...

Honestly, how has the... _bigger_ boy not had a leash placed on him yet? He is absolutely out of control!

Yes, out of control, and yet the least of her worries. He held no ounce of her attention, but only when he went after the little one who was as little as her, if possibly smaller. The real target, the spark of her curiosity; the ever so lonely Larry.

... or was it Garry?

Her curiosity only stroke further when she followed him and the insufferable bunch out of the washroom and found him suddenly disappearing before her eyes, her nose and ears leading her to the roof of her school, where she found the boy standing, clearly confused and frightened by the abnormal occurrence. She had attempted to calm the boy and make him more at ease, as best as a mute could help, but all she accomplished was prompting him to run away.

... not exactly an accomplishment.

She would've gone after him, had it not been for Mr. Banner telling her otherwise, and to heading home instead would be the best option. She had protested... well, _as best as a mute could_ ; she was lazy, yes, but that did not mean she would not help where help was needed. Still, there was only so much she could do without bringing too much attention to herself, so she decided the best course of action would be to let the Harrisons know and, somehow, convince them to help look for the missing boy.

She had decided waiting for Mr. Banner to drive her back to Privet Drive would be too long a wait, so she made her way back to the Harrisons by foot. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have done that, no matter how familiar she had become with her new housing situation.

There was no limit to where creeps would prowl in the evening, as had proved that one very educational film...

Home Alone...

Thinking back on it, it probably wasn't really all that educational...

Her assumption was proven true when she caught sight of the familiar raven locks, followed by a pair of sky-blue eyes lighting up upon catching sight of her. Instantly, the man— Howl— jumped onto his feet and waved excitedly, prompting her to slow her pace and avert her gaze in search of a shortcut to the door.

Pushing past her laziness for what felt like the first time in so long, she made a mad dash across the lawn, for the door—

"Hey, wait!!"

— only to be physically incapable of going any further than seven steps as she suddenly found herself in the air, feet dangling as she was picked up from the pits of her arms to keep her from going anywhere.

The lowest grumble vibrated in her throat as she slumped in defeat, lacking any motivation to put up even the slightest struggle; her energy all went in her sprint, and that was cut short, so... yeah. No more running for at least another year.

"If I put you down, will you promise not to run?"

Her flattened, deadpanning gaze peering over her shoulder was his only response, prompting him to chuckle sheepishly as he carefully placed her back unto her feet. She immediately took a few steps back to keep a good distance between them; the man was clearly not a threat to her, but his advances were rather questionable.

"I'm sorry if I frightened, or alarmed you in any manner— that was truly not my intention," he spoke softly as he adjusted the sleeves of his fancy white shirt. "My name is Howl—" What an odd name. "Howl Jenkins. I'm... er, a... an _extended_... _guardian_ , if you will, of young Harry."

She scrutinized him with a visibly doubtful look.

"Hey, don't look at me like that! I try, okay!?" he exclaimed himself before sighing as he plopped back down on the edge of the sidewalk, running a hand through his loose tresses. "He's not entirely... _well_ , so his doctor had me look after him whenever I can— any protest from the _stump_ and _twig_ are immediately nullified once _we_ 're involved."

 _Heh_.

She was admittedly more confused than before; it made no sense for someone to be responsible for someone else if they held no primordial relation to said person unless they were some sort of extended family. But this man— Howl, looked too... ethereal to possibly share any form of kinship with the wimpy little kid next door. Literally, the only thing they could possibly share in common, aside from their pale complexion, was their dark hair, and, even then, Howl's looked almost impossibly black, while Larry's was somewhere closer to the darkest shade of brown that _almost_ looked black.

Granted, he shared no resemblance to his cousin, and gods know he looked nothing like his unrelated uncle, or his aunt aside from the pair of green eyes.

Then again, she herself shared no particular feat with her own father, aside from her skin tone, though she's more inclined to believe she got that from her mother, considering what few memories she had of her. A lot of it was a little muddled, and it wasn't just due to how long it had been since, but she could clearly recall some mentions of her looking like a younger version of her mother. Such a bittersweet thought.

He chuckled. "I'm not a doctor, and honestly I don't think I could pull off the white coat myself, but I am an... assistant of sorts."

_That was a lot of ellipses._

" _Anyway_ ," he stressed, almost as if he'd read her deadpanning thoughts. "I don't wish to bother your young mind with all the details, but my point in being here is that I could use your help."

She blinked, then took another step back.

"Don't take it like that! Look, see?" He pulled out two twenty-pound notes and held them out to her. "I'll even pay you!"

She gave him yet another deadpanned look, prompting him to grimace as he thought through his own words.

"I... see what you mean. Truly, I apologize," he spoke softly, sounding genuinely sincere, with the slightest of smiles on his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It's just that the kid's still having a rough time. He won't admit it, but it's not too hard to tell when the signs are so clear!"

He averted his gaze for a moment, as he paused, seeming deep in thought, before he glanced back at her.

"That favour I asked the other day..."

She remembered.

He tried to bribe her into befriending him then, too.

This guy has some serious bribing problems.

 _Are bribes_ actually _effective, though?_ She couldn't help but wonder. Surely it just didn't really work on her because of her general ignorance. She knew money was used for general necessities and sometimes for luxury. Perhaps, if she actually had something to spend money on, she would learn the value behind things in a general manner.

Swiftly, before Howl could even process what was happening, he found himself staring at the girl, dumbfounded, as he watched her completely ignore him, instead inspecting the bills with her slender, delicate fingers, bland eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she scrutinized them. He felt his lips curl up into a small grin as he concluded her resolve had crumbled and she was finally accepting the deal, rendered then surprised when she suddenly brandished a white little dry-erase board containing only one sentence, scribbled clumsily on it with a black marker.

_I know not the first thing about befriending someone._

He blinked.

_I do not have any friends._

His gaze softened. "You can start by just spending time with him. Sometimes, having someone's company is more than enough."

 _How? When? We have_ — she shuddered— _school, and besides that, Twig and Stump are mean people, despite what they show others._

He chuckled softly, inclining his head ever so slightly as he concurred. "Trust me, I get it. But maybe you could try another approach. Spend time with him during your breaks at school. Invite him over for a visit."

She blinked, her gaze dropping to the ground as she thought for a moment. _A visit_? She hadn't had any of those in so long...

" _I guess_ ," her monotonous voice echoed in the back of his mind, almost sounding like a robot, more than anything else.

To say he was surprised when she suddenly stood inches from him, would be an understatement. Having swiftly, and rather unnoticeably closed the distance between them, she shoved the bills into his chest, gaze still on the ground.

" _But no money involved. I will not be_ bought _to stand by another lonely soul._ "

His eyes crinkled at the sides. "Great." His smile turned sheepish. "Then perhaps we can start by finding him."

She blinked, her gaze snapping up at him, baffled by his words.

"No one's got a clue as to where he's gotten off to!" He laughed when he said that, but with the way his face looked, she thought he actually wanted to cry. "Your folks are already checking around for me, but if you see him, can you tell him to come on home? Small kid with huge, round glasses... lots of hair— can't miss him."

He almost sounded like he _knew_ she would be the one to find him.

She regarded him for a moment, eyeing him suspiciously before she gave a small shrug. " _I shall have a look around myself then._ "

The man smiled and reached out to pat her on the head, paused before doing so, then pulled his hand away instead.

"Maybe get on home yourself first." He nodded toward the house. "I really appreciate it, though. Thank you, Lilah."

He stood and dusted his trousers before straightening his posture, smiling fondly down at the girl.

"Now I better go look, too! Can't put everyone else to work while I keep sitting here."

His smile brightened before he did the oddest thing.

He bowed, rather theatrically so, like an actor ending a show.

What an odd person.

"Well, until we meet again, little lady."

And before she could think of anything to add, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Shoving her marker into her pocket, she glanced around, feeling rather befuddled and wondering whether all of it had actually happened. Her question was answered when neither Harrison was home when she entered the household.

Ever since her first phase, her sense had gradually heightened as she got more and more used to her animal form, even if not by much. Though she was, by no means, at a level one could practically hear others' heartbeats, she was still very in tune with her senses, that she could hear things from quite a large perimeter already. Her sense of smell was the sharpest, though, and currently, she smelt nor heard anyone within the house nor the surrounding yards, except for that annoying squirrel that kept trying to jump into her room.

_Stupid squirrel..._

She sighed softly, dropping her bag by the coat hanger near the door before taking a peek into the kitchen. Sure enough, not even Mrs. Merilyn was there, baking those brownies she was quite fond of making almost daily. There was already a tray there, left out in the open to cool off, and she was already drooling for one.

Stepping further into the kitchen, she passed the radio on the dining table and switched on to the pre-selected station, the integrated recorder automatically enabling itself as it played, as she headed for the sink. Placing her little board on the counter near the sink, she felt herself relax a little more as she washed her hands, barely paying attention to the announcements playing on the radio as she then dried her hands with a towel before seeking out a cup in one of the cupboards above the sink.

Thankfully, she wasn't so short that she couldn't reach for one.

"And next up, we have a new release from masked singer AJ Con, a piece written by a "Taylor Swift." Never heard of that one before, have you, Jace?"

"Never, Alex. But if it's good ol' AJ performing, it's sure to be one heck of a tune! Here we give you "Beautiful Ghosts." Hope you BBC listeners enjoy!"

" _Follow me home... if you dare to._ "

The glass full of milk slipped from her hand and onto the floor, shattering at her feet, the drink spilling everywhere as a flash of golden eyes flashed quickly through her mind.

" _I wouldn't know... where to lead you._ "

It was almost a sliver of a second before she was back in the kitchen, eyes staring blankly at the radio as the song played on.

" _Should I take chances... when no one took chances on me?_ "

She could remember those eyes to their last detail, yet whom they belong to or where she had seen them escaped her completely.

" _So I watch from the dark, wait for my life to start with no beauty in my memory._ "

There were echoes of giggles and gentle laughter in the back of her mind.

" _All that I wanted was to be wanted..._ "

Soft, caring touches, reassuring squeezes and a warmth growing in the pit of her stomach.

" _Too young to wander on the streets, alone and haunted..._ "

Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees, her eyes fluttering shut as the ballad embraced her whole, gently.

" _Born into nothing... at least you have something. Something to cling to..._ "

The voice was soft, yet raw with emotion, with a warmth she hadn't heard in oh, so long.

" _Visions of dazzling rooms I'll never get let into..._ "

And those eyes were dimming back into her mind. Such a beautiful sight one could easily be taken with— bright and warm, mesmerizing orbs with inextinguishable flames dancing within that fiery gaze. Such a bright flame they lit, and yet the light was so dim it was but a memory that seemed more like a dream than anything.

" _And the memories were lost long ago... but at least you have beautiful ghosts._ "

 _De_ lilah's lips curled gently as her eyes fluttered open, her irises momentarily flashing the colour of a purple dahlia before they refocused back into their bicolor hue.

 _Indeed_ , a beautiful ghost.

Snatching her trusty little board from the counter as she shot upright, she dashed out the kitchen entryway and out of the house, barely spending a second to lock the door behind her, leaving the mess she made forgotten, buried at the far back of her mind.

For the first time since she had run for her life a little over a year ago, she put effort to fulfill her resolve and forced her legs to go faster as she headed in the familiar direction toward Waterfield Practice.

" _Out here, the wild ones... are taming the fear within me._ "

Suddenly, she came to a near halt as her vision clouded momentarily, and those pretty golden orbs morphed into a pair of innocent emerald eyes, glinting with a hint of fear that brought a shiver down her spine. She could still faintly hear the song playing in the far back of her mind as her next few steps became hesitant.

" _Scared to call them my friends and be broken again— is this hope just a mystical dream?_ "

Bright eyes blinking with hesitation, her gaze flickered toward which way she had been running to, then to the opposite direction. An invisible pull pointed up the hill, and yet a part of her wished to continue the way she was going.

" _And so maybe my home isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be!_ "

She came to a halt, dropping into an almost fetal position, her rear inches from the ground as she crouched, a hand entangling in her hair as she tried to decide. _Decide, decide, decide!_ She never had to do something like this before.

Then again, back then, she had no freedom whatsoever. But now...

" _But I feel so alive with these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!_ "

Now she did.

Standing straight, she cast one last look down the road before turning and trekking her way up the hill, slower, calmer. The chirping of crickets in the tall grass greeted her, quiet and familiar. From the top of the hill, she could relish in the greenery that was the local park, more trees and grass, than playground of whatever sort there was in most others she'd been taken to.

She took in a deep breath, grimacing slightly at the strain in her throat. She slowed to a stop when the sudden smell of scotch tape wafted her way, prickling at her nostrils. Grip tightening ever so slightly on her board, her other hand slid into the right pocket of her hoodie as she sighed softly, slightly baffled by this... odd development, her nested hand fiddling with the wrapped up Mars Bar she'd forgotten she had at all, trying to relax herself as she felt rather restless, all of a sudden; she wasn't sure what, but something told her that she wasn't alone, so she glanced around.

There he was, sitting at the top of one hill, almost completely hidden within the long grass and white flowers surrounding him. His head was buried in his knees, staring ahead by himself. For whatever reason— probably just that he wasn't paying attention— he hadn't noticed her yet. She watched him a minute longer, feeling a little bit like she'd found a deer in the wild.

Though deer didn't have sad frowns... or huge round glasses.

But this boy did.

For the first time since she'd met him, she wondered what could have possibly upset him. After a few more seconds, she took a step forward, then another. And then he glanced her way; his emerald eyes reflected the light of the rising moon.

She instantly halted her step, seemingly dumbfounded, and the pair stared at each other for a good minute.

"You..."

The boy blinked, startled by her sudden appearance, and jumped to his feet, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He didn't say anything, just stared at her in a strange way. She could tell his eyes had been leaking; his nose runny, and there were dried stains on his cheeks and his knees, soaking the hem of his shorts, and his eyes were still shining with a few more.

Clearly, she'd obviously caught him off guard.

His round spectacles seemed to glow in the moonlight, though when he caught her staring at it, he averted his own gaze.

With a slight tilt of her head, she dared herself into taking a step closer. " _Harry?_ " _Yes,_ that _was his name_ , she recalled.

His eyes were wide, almost as though he were surprised she even remembered his name, openly scrutinizing her. Frankly, she didn't blame him— it wasn't like she actively tried to remember his name, or that of anyone else, for that matter.

In her mind, everyone was just... a bunch of extras.

"Y... you remember m-my name?"

She blinked, bland gaze almost flattening, seemingly offended. " _Of course I do, what do you take me for?_ "

His cheeks blazed a rosy-pink as he averted his gaze, embarrassed. "H-how did you find me?"

" _I am all-knowing,_ " she deadpanned.

His bright eyes snapped up at her, narrowing slightly behind his glasses. "That's a lie. Tell the truth."

Her lips twitched ever so slightly as she took another step forward. " _There are people looking for you. A man, in particular, asked me to keep an eye out._ "

His gaze dropped, almost ashamed. "That must've been Mr. Howl," he uttered softly, hugging himself with thin, shaky arms.

She didn't question how he knew the man. Instead, she wondered about something else.

" _So, is this your hill?_ " He blinked, staring back up at her. " _I can leave if it is._ "

Truthfully, he didn't want her to leave. What she said, however, he found rather odd.

"You can't own a hill."

" _Says who?_ "

No one that he knew, that was for sure.

Unsure of himself, he averted his gaze anew and sat back down with a thump, resting his chin on his knees. Curious about the lonely boy, she sat on the patch of grass next to him.

The pure white flowers that covered this hill rocked back and forth gently as the stars twinkled above. The way they dotted the sky made them seem like flowers too. The night wind was cool as it travelled over the ocean and up the hill, chasing away the heat from the afternoon sun.

" _Why are you here?_ "

A quiet hiccup escaped him as soon as she asked the question. Almost like they'd never stopped, his tears started up again with a vengeance.

"My parents..." he spoke softly. "They... they're not around anymore."

She understood that feeling all too well.

"Home... it's not home. It's not a nice place. The people I live with... they don't— they're not nice..."

The tears fell fast and heavy over his flushed cheeks, sticking in his dark lashes.

"It's been _so long_ , and they took me in as a family, and yet— they aren't _nice_ people! They've made it clear, countless times, that they don't want me there, and I certainly don't want to be there either— I want to go _home_! To Mum and Dad! But I can't 'cause they're gone, and they're never coming back!"

The outburst took her off-guard. By the time he was done wailing, Harry's chest was heaving with exhaustion. He sniffled and removed his glasses, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before he put them back on again.

" _... says who?_ "

His head snapped up, startled by her response, even more so when he found her face barely inches away from him, her striking eyes staring back at him, gaze hardened and so intense it was nearly suffocating.

" _Just because the people who gave birth to you are no longer alive, does not mean your life ends there._ "

Harry stared, wide-eyed, blinking back unshed tears.

" _You want something, you have to work for it. If you do nothing..._ "

Her own gaze dropped as she stared down at the whiteboard nestled neatly upon her lap, her thoughts going back to the seven years of torture she'd endured.

" _If you do nothing, then nothing will change._ "

It was quiet for a moment between them, and all they could hear were the sound of crickets and birds, and a few squirrels rushing about the enclosing night. Suddenly, the boy began to sniffle ever so softly as he took in her words.

"Then what do I do?"

His voice was trembling, hauling her attention back to him. Her gaze was bland as ever, but there was a certain glint that twinkled in her eyes as she watched him slip his hands underneath his glasses and press his fingers against his eyelids. Something churned in the pit of her stomach as he wound himself up again for another long crying fit.

She didn't know what she felt, but it was definitely not anything good. She could somewhat sympathize with him, she guessed; she had, after all, lost her parents at a very young age too. Difference was, she had no one to go to... that she knew of. And she didn't just lose her family through blood.

Someone once told her that "pack is family, and family is forever." Unfortunately for her, she lost the whole of it. But that didn't mean she couldn't make more. Yes, she feared caring too much and then losing whomever it was she came to care for.

"What do I do?" he repeated.

Still, it's better to have cared, than have felt nothing at all.

" _I_ don't _know._ "

Of course, she didn't know; despite everything she had been through, she was still just a kid. It was barely a year ago that she learned how to properly read and write. Barely a year ago that she hauled herself back into civilization. She knew nothing about life, except for what she, herself, truly wanted yet could not dare to find a way to it.

She glanced over at the crying boy. The boy who was just as lonely, and sought for more, yet could not dare to find a way to it either. Her right hand slid out from her pocket, grasping the item with a relinquishing grip.

" _I_ don't _know,_ " she repeated. " _But we can try figuring it out together._ "

The boy blinked, startled and seemingly stunned by her words. "R-really?"

" _Yes. Now dry your eyes, you are making a mess of yourself. And here._ "

The sniffling Harry glanced back at her through teary eyes, blinking a few times, surprised upon seeing her holding out something small encased in a black wrapper.

"What is that?"

She fell over. Literally.

" _You mean to tell me you have never tasted this sweet delight?!_ "

The poor boy jumped, startled once more by what seemed to be the first emotion she'd ever displayed in her weird, robotic voice that never left her lips. Harry blinked, watching with a tinge of amusement warming its way in through his stomach.

"I'm afraid I haven't."

She flopped onto her back for a moment before bringing the candy up and ripping the wrapper. Breaking the chocolate bar in two, she gave him a piece, keeping the other half for herself. She could hear others calling out their names in the distance, but she paid them no mind and kept her focus solely on the boy sat beside her. She kept herself from devouring her piece, watching attentively as the boy took a small bite off his half, his eyes lighting up as he savoured the delicious sweet.

" _There are more of that at the house— and Mrs. Merilyn makes brownies almost all the time._ "

"Brownies?" he asked as he finished the last of his piece.

She nodded. " _The best sweets I have tasted yet... beside Mars Bars._ " She hugged her board to her chest with one hand, offering the other to him with a tilt of her head. " _Would you like to try some with me?_ "

The boy blinked, seemingly stunned by her offer. "Y-you... you want to do something... with _me_?"

That wheeze of a snort escaped her lips as her shoulders shook slightly. " _I do not see anyone else her—_ "

"There you two are!"

She deadpanned. _Of course_.

She didn't make move to avert her attention, keeping her eyes and focus solely on him, something he did not fail to notice. For a moment, he thought, believed— _hoped_ the pull he had felt the moment their eyes had first met was reciprocated if even only a little bit. The idea of not being alone anymore was very appealing— very _comforting_ , the idea of having something only for him even more so.

"Lilah!"

"Harry!"

The boy blinked, startled upon hearing the familiar voice of Mr. Howl calling out his name with a relief he'd only ever heard in his Doctor's voice. Snapping back to reality, there was no more hesitation as he took hold of the hand held out to him, relishing in the foreign yet very welcome feeling of the soft yet slightly calloused hand holding gently yet securely onto his as its owner effortlessly hauled him up. His large round spectacles jostled slightly down to the bridge of his nose as he was pulled to his feet, prompting him to push them back up with a digit from his free hand, reluctant to let go with the other. Much to his relief, the girl didn't seem to be about to do so either, so he dared to tighten his grip on her hand, almost as though a self-confirmation that this was really happening.

"Kids, where did you go?"

Harry looked at her, tears still clinging to his cheeks. Much to his surprise, her usual bland expression had somewhat softened as she gazed back at him with a faint glint in her striking eyes.

" _It will be okay._ " Her voice was as robotic as he'd grown used to, despite their short and very few interactions; somehow, he found comfort in it, this time around.

"There you are, bud!"

To both their surprise, appearing over the curve of the hill were Mr. Howl with Mrs. Merilyn only, leaving Lilah to wonder where the Harrison patriarch had ended. The pair rushed over as soon as their eyes had landed on the pair of children holding hands.

"Lilah! You're here after all."

" _You can see me standing right here._ "

Mrs. Merilyn gave a small giggle. "Oh, I know, but you know how I am; I tend to spout what I see at the moment."

" _Clearly._ "

"Oh, but you had me so worried, dear," she continued, practically pressing the rigid girl's face into her chest. "When we got home for a little break, and I caught sight of the broken glass on the floor, I could only fear for the worst."

The girl's face visibly reddened, though ever so slightly as she averted her gaze, and odd expression washing over her face, something between apologetic and sheepishness. The rare yet very adorable sight pulled at her heartstrings and merely prompted her to hug her even tighter... well, as tight as her weak arms could hug someone like Lilah.

"We had been checking around the park for Harry and then heard what happened earlier when you met the new neighbour."

The girl waved her off, fruitlessly trying to pry the woman off her. " _Why is everybody acting like this is such a big thing? We are_ well _, do not worry._ "

Mrs. Merilyn gave her a fond smile, her smile creasing as she finally took notice of the children's interlocked hands, neither having let go despite both being practically smothered by either adult. Lilah had attempted to pry her off, but gave up after barely ten seconds, humouring her. Harry, on the other hand, was still wiggling against his guardian— no one knows who this man actually is...—'s tight hug and pushing at his arms.

"Thank goodness you're both fine," she murmured, giving the girl's head a gentle pat. "Were you two having fun out here?"

Watching the sight of the boy and the odd man, too, Lilah blinked, that rare pensive look barely hidden behind her usual blandness before she shrugged, averting her gaze once more. " _I guess. He is..._ tolerable _._ "

Mrs. Merilyn giggled, looking back up just as Howl finally let go of the squirming boy.

"Thanks very much for finding him," he said. "I really don't know this neighbourhood."

The girl deadpanned. " _That is very clearly a lie,_ " her thoughts projected solely into his head, prompting him to avert his suspiciously sheepish look.

"Well, I'll be getting him home now," he said a little too quickly. "It's been a long day for us all. Say goodbye, Harry!"

The boy was very reluctant to let go of the girl as it was, but upon finding that glint in her eyes once more as he glanced back at her, he relented, feeling his insides warm with a comfort and contentment he couldn't remember ever feeling.

"Bye, Lilah," he spoke softly, barely above a whisper, as he finally let go of her hand.

Her lips quirked slightly as she reached her hand up and poked his cheek ever so slightly, brandishing her board with only one word scribbled upon it.

_Tomorrow_

When she found the time to write that down, the boy had no idea, but his mind was distracted by the word itself. With a smile, visibly brightened, he nodded eagerly and waved goodbye, as Howl tugged him away, the pair walking off into the darkness, heading toward the neighbourhood.

"How about we plan you a proper play-date tomorrow, okay?" Lilah deadpanned. "He can spend the day, and you can show him the little collections you've made. How does that sound?"

 **_I never knew I'd love this world they've let me into..._ ** ****

Lilah blinked, then shrugged. " _It sounds like words._ "

Mrs. Merilyn laughed, the sound overlapping into a warm, familiar chorus, as she put her arm around the girl's shoulder and led her towards the path.

 **_And the memories were lost long ago..._ ** ****

Satisfied, and more than a little ready to go to bed after her long day, Lilah followed her to the Harrison household, the song from earlier playing softly in the back of her mind.

**_So I'll dance with these beautiful ghosts..._ **

**September** **9, 1989**

Deception was something she was surprisingly good at; as her face never betrayed what she felt, or truly meant when communicating. She could be lying about anything, and no one would know it. Of course, she never really lied, though one might consider her omitting the truth about what she was or what she could do just that.

Then again, what she was wasn't her secret alone to tell; just because her pack had perished, didn't mean there weren't still others out there. Other shifters, soul-shifters... There had to be. Unfortunately for Delilah, her abilities, growing with each passing day, weren't something she could hide just as easily, especially when you can suddenly levitate the diner table after it had nearly been toppled over ( _that_ story is for another time...)... or when it's finally noticed there is a lack of movement in your lips whenever you "spoke."

You would think after finding out the extent to which ran the weirdness of their foster child, the Harrisons would either send her back to the orphanage or take her to get tested. Fortunately for her, the Harrisons were kind of weird themselves.

"Ah!! Our baby is a ventriloquist!"

Let's just say this was not exactly the reaction she was... expecting, though.

" _Speaking in your minds is not ventriloquism, you extras! And do not call me a baby, I am nine years old!_ "

"Oh, a ventriloquist!"

" _Do you even know what a ventriloquist is, at this point?_ "

"She's so talented!"

Were all the people in this neighbourhood this clueless?

Being accepted was a foreign thing to her, so when she found the Harrisons blending in with this new normal for her sake, there was a flush of feelings she'd never experienced before. She felt the best way to understand them would be by finding someone else who was in a similar enough position.

Who would've thought it would be the loner of a neighbour and schoolmate of hers? This had been why she had hesitated less the next time she was approached by that "Howl" guy, though Harry was rather clueless and uncertain about the entire ordeal.

Being bombarded by a mute girl was a foreign thing to him. Being confronted by anyone, actually, was entirely out of his norm. He was used to being outright ignored, or reprimanded, or looked down on by his relatives. Being coddled was a rare thing for him as it was only ever done by his Doctor and her odd companions on rare occasions, though it was mostly the two formers for him on a daily basis, so he was rather taken aback when he was confronted by a girl who didn't even speak, even more so when he suddenly found himself standing at her door, and then, in her very neat and spacious bedroom.

Harry had never been in a bedroom.

Correction: Harry had never been in a bedroom he didn't have to clean, in a girl's room no less. He hadn't known what to expect when he had been personally invited over to the _nicer_ household across the street... or, rather had his presence demanded by a blunt, mute girl.

Spending time with the Harrisons was interesting, to say the least. They were genuinely nice, as opposed to his aunt and uncle who only ever acted that way when in public; even then, there was a limit to how nice they could be.

Lilah, it turns out, really wasn't the daughter of the Harrisons. Or, rather, she was, but not biologically.

Like him, she had lost her parents at a young age. Clearly, though, she must have gone through much worse than living in a cupboard to have gone mute. It didn't keep her from being a pleasant person to have around; he was probably being biased considering he'd all but liked her at a first glance, and she had stood up for him, but she really was a nice girl... when she wasn't being reserved... or lazy... or ridiculously blunt in general.

The Harrisons didn't pry, nor did they hover. They still always seem to gravitate around them in such a parental way that Harry always lacked, which he found quite refreshing. Mr. Harrison was the most talkative of the three. Granted, one of them was mute, but... yeah, he could talk up a storm.

He was actually telling him how they had gone to Frensham Great Pond, a lovely beach up down in Farnham, when Lilah suddenly snatched him and dragged him by the hem of his oversized shirt up the spiral staircase that led to her room on the second floor.

The room, as aforementioned, was surprisingly neat for it being the bedroom of an obviously lazy girl. One would've thought her to be the sort to leave her things lying around, be it food or clothes.

The logic behind her neatness was that " _I would rather put the things away now than waste energy later picking it up._ "

So, she had him to spend time together...

How do you spend time with someone when you've never spent time with anyone? ... of importance...

" _Thank you for coming,_ " she said. " _Things were getting a little... out of hand._ "

"Thank you for inviting me," he said softly, his eyes following her every move like a hawk as she led him to a chest behind her bed.

Her shoulders shook slightly as her lips parted and a wheeze of a snort escaped her. " _It was more of a demand than an actual invitation, but..._ okay."

Harry felt his lips curl up in a genuine smile, feeling a sudden weight lifting off his shoulders at this new action; he'd smiled plenty before, but it was only for show after he'd learned it from copying his aunt in public. It felt nice to do it because he meant it rather than for show.

Looking around, he took in the bedroom in further detail. The room was practically bare, with no toys of any sort lain about, as would have been expected from a girl her age. There was a small bookshelf in the corner with light-novels, colouring books and books akin to school textbooks. By the bay window beside it, there sat a porcelain doll with a freakishly lazy eye.

"... nice doll."

There was that wheezing snort of hers again. " _Do not even try; not even I like it. It creeps me out._ "

The boy giggled softly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Then why don't you get rid of it?" he asked.

Harry watched her attentively as her bland gaze softened as she went over and reached for it, holding the visibly heavy porcelain with a delicacy in her careful grasp.

" _Because it is the first gift I have ever received._ "

Since her stay at the orphanage, she had become rather well acquainted with the other residents at Bellefaire. Her birthday had been no secret in the establishment, but, as she had been a new addition to the household, and clearly preferred to keep her distance as she took in more knowledge every day, the day had gone by uncelebrated. Hence, she had gotten no gift but the clothes she'd been given to wear, though they were more of a need than a gift. Before that, well... Alessia merely returned something that had belonged to her family in the first place, so that was hardly a gift.

Before that— there wasn't much she could remember before that.

Looking at how the Harrisons were, how the kids at Bellefaire were, she realized now her family hadn't exactly been the happiest. Being the youngest, all she could ever really do was observe.

And observe she did.

It was always a heartening thing to be around her brothers. It was relieving, comforting— exciting. They were young and full of contagious energy, and she always wished to run around with them. Most of her fellow pack members around their age would often come about to spend time with them, but that was the extent of happiness and lov— _appreciation_ that surrounded them.

Her parents never shared those three words with each other. There was always that tension similar to which always surrounded the Adam siblings, whenever she was somehow involved. There was no comfort, no contentment, no warmth like what gravitated between Arnold and Merilyn Harrison. Either or, was only ever directed to her, or her brothers, and, at that, separately.

What is love? What is giving? What is...?

"I like these."

She was a quiet person, that much was obvious, ignoring the fact that she's mute. But there was a difference between being quiet, and being eerily silent, and Harry knew that difference all too well. He had realized almost as instantly as he'd asked the question that, perhaps, he simply shouldn't have asked that particular one in the first place, even if it had been lighthearted.

His gaze had quickly averted, wandering about in a desperate search for a distraction; he didn't like that sad look on her face.

His eyes had suddenly trailed to the drawing on the pinned on the wall beside the bay window as he settled beside her on the soft rug beneath them. Perhaps drawing would be putting it lightly; it was more of a sketch, with measurements and such, of what appeared to be a little house. There was a shelf mounted beneath the sketch with four little wooden figurines, clumsily carved and curved, a broken shiv resting neatly at the end of the row.

First was an off symbol of sorts, standing crookedly in a tilt— a lightning bolt, it seems. Beside it was a growling wolf, its face nearly mutilated by the shiv (job well done, if not a little unsettling to look at), followed by a fox, and lastly what seemed to be the base sculpture of some type of feline— a lion.

"I like these," he repeated, eyes wide in awe. "Did you make them?"

Her lashes tickled her skin as she blinked momentarily before shifting her gaze back toward him, noticing her little creations had hauled his attention. She was suddenly filled with a tinge of pride as she noticed the admiration shining in his eyes at the sight of her little treasures.

" _Yes._ "

He smiled, turning back to look at her. "I really like them; I think it's amazing you know how to make something like this."

Her lips quirked slightly as she hid behind her curls. " _Thank you._ "

"You're welcome."

As Harry turned to look around the room a little more, she felt herself relax a little more out of her usually stiff posture, feeling... _content_ for the new company. Absentmindedly, she reached for the nightstand beside her and open its only drawer, pulling out two chocolate bars. Yes, she keeps a small stash in there— don't judge.

Holding one out to him, she felt that familiar tingle fluttering in her chest as she watched his eyes light up again as he accepted the offered sweet. Then his eyes landed on the chest beside the nightstand.

"What's that?"

Her eyes rolled to the side, lazily following his gaze as she took another bite of her Mars Bar. " _A hoard of stuff I found_ _washed up_ _on_ _Frensham. I even found some driftwood._ "

Chocolate bar caught between her teeth, she effortlessly pulled the heavy trunk toward them and opened it, displaying a multitude of priceless little treasures, deeply cleansed and encased respectively.

" _Y_ _ou s_ _ee?_ " She pointed to a piece at the bottom.

Harry took another bite of his sweet, his eyes sparkling as he admired her treasury. "This is a wonderful collection."

She got the sense from the tone of his voice that he wasn't just saying it to be nice, he actually meant it. Pulling slightly away, she allowed him to shuffle through her chest, admiring each object, his attention hauled toward the largest shell in her collection, hesitant to touch it without her permission. The thing was large, and yet looked surprisingly frail, and he could not help but wonder why she had chosen to bring it back with her; it looked like it could break at any moment, despite being in a protective case.

" _This was the first one I found with Mr. Arnold when we got there. He had suggested we hunt for these as I had never seen any before. We_ _found_ _it_ _under a big piece of seaweed that had washed ashore_ _._ "

And like that, he pulled out seashell after seashell, with the mute girl explaining where she'd gotten each one. The collection was so huge and varied that she had lots of stories for all of them, many of which he found funny, mostly because it nearly always involved Mr. Harrison somehow getting caught in a pickle. Apparently fascinated, either by the stories or by the shells themselves, Harry listened with what looked like the full force of his attention.

It was a little overwhelming to be the center of such dedicated focus, but she found that she quite... appreciated his company, so she didn't really mind.

Dinner was an awkward thing, with the newly rekindled couple ( _again_ ,story for another time...) being a little... extra with their public displays of affection in front of the children. This prompted the pair to all but inhale their respective meals (with Harry profusely thanking the Missus for merely offering him a _meal_ , and even more so after just the first bite...) before rushing outside. The two children settled comfortably in the quietude of the suburban neighbourhood as they sat up against the large tree in the front lawn, blanketed by the shade produced by its voluminous... branches and leaves.

He spoke about various little things, Lilah relishing in the break of being the one to occupy the silence instead.

He liked reading a lot, even if it might seem boring to others (cough— Duds— cough). He wasn't allowed much freedom when he wished to absorb knowledge in his own terms, so most of what he learned was self-taught; he had to dumb himself down for his cousin's sake, something she found absolutely _preposterous_. He liked anything that had to do with healing (he didn't know the extent of what this entailed, but he liked it, so... yeah...) because it was while being healed that he was met with the first act of kindness in his life... well, as far as he knew.

He told her about _his_ Doctor. How he'd dislocated his shoulder once, a few years ago, after his cousin had shoved him hard against one of the contraptions in the playground of the park. To say Lilah was horrified to hear this would be an understatement— how... _mentally unstable_ or freakishly _strong_ would one human child have to be to have another's shoulder dislocated? This sort of thing happened to her a lot when she was still captive to the Adams; they were _werewolves_ , though.

What excuse does _Duds_ have?

Ever since, _his_ Doctor had become the only constant figure in his life that he actually appreciated. She showed him a warmth and kindness he could only ever dream of before, acting as, he would imagine, a mother would. There were times she even volunteered to look after him when his aunt and uncle would leave him behind in favour of their own son— how she'd manage to convince them to leave him with her instead of Mrs. Figg, the local cat-lady, was beyond him, but it wasn't something he would ever complain about.

Without her in his life, he would've never known such wholesomeness was even possible. He wouldn't have been able to have a glimpse at what it felt like to have a mother-figure in his life, or any other sort of kinship he had once hoped to have with his cousin.

In Mr. Howl— one of his Doctor's more constant companions (or colleagues... he was never sure what Mr. Howl's purpose actually was, as he knew for certain the man was no doctor. Perhaps merely a family friend; that would explain why he was around a lot...), along with Miss Nadia and Miss Yennie, he found a connection he had always imagined would be like if his aunt and uncle actually care for him. Though Nadia was the sterner one of the three, they always dropped all and anything for him. Much like his Doctor herself, they would spoil and coddle him, and care for him like no other; they'd even had a bedroom just for him in their enormous mansion of a home, though he never really used it, in favour of falling asleep beneath the watchful of his Doctor, on the comforting mound of a divan in her study.

Unfortunately, she had become far busier as of late. The details were quite confidential, he admitted, and the most he knew was from the gossiping receptionist at the clinic. It turns out his Doctor was not only a medic but also the head of an international company, which's name he had yet to learn. Apparently, it was well known in most of North America, publicly recognized for its sudden growth within the past three decades, and its recent partnership with the scientific enterprise, _Davenport Industries_.

The subject needed to change.

For obvious reasons, Lilah wasn't one to get into any sort of conversation, even less remain in one; any sort of discussion she was generally involved in was always one-sided unless she chose to put any effort to brandish her board or project her thoughts. Very few people could look past her illusion or were even privy to this ability of hers, so she generally just waited until the other person stopped talking, or if she had enough energy and lacked enough patience for them to stop, she would up and walk away. But this wasn't just anyone she was with... at least not anyone she could willingly walk away from.

Hence why the subject needed to change. Thankfully, the boy did it for her instead.

"You like this tree?" She gave him an odd look. "It's just... I always see you lingering by it."

Her lips twitched as her gaze lifted, admiring the leaves fluttering above them. " _I... I feel a certain_ attraction _toward wood._ "

Simple enough of an answer, though odd choice for words.

"Why?"

Her lips twitched again; she tended to ask that question a lot lately herself.

Her hand lifted subconsciously to tug on a curly lock as she was hit by a wave of nostalgia.

" _It is a reminder._ "

"What does it remind you of?" he wondered.

For a moment, she did not reply, and Harry finally caught sight of her reaction, a stark contrast to her usually bland expression.

" _Home..._ "

Her hand trailed further up to the brim of the mark on the right side of her neck hidden between her bushes of curls, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly as a sudden cold imploded in the pit of her stomach and suddenly began to expand within her.

" _Running... b-breaking free..._ "

 _Again_ , the subject needed to change.

 _Again_ , the boy did it for her instead, though it wasn't the choice for conversation she would've swayed to.

"How do you do that?"

Her head tilted slightly as she gave him a questioning look. " _What?_ "

" _That_. Talk without moving your lips. I can tell a few others have heard you, but... no one seems to notice that..."

Yes... no one seems to notice. _No one but_ you _..._

She averted her gaze, shrugging one shoulder. " _I dunno— how did you wind up on the roof without_ actually _walking up there?_ "

The boy's eyes widened momentarily before he too averted his gaze. "I... I don't know."

" _Me neither._ "

It was silent for a moment as the pair gazed off into the distance, trying to understand what these abnormal occurrences could possibly mean before a spark lit up inside the boy.

"B-but... maybe..."

His hesitance caught her attention, hauling her eyes back toward him. His cheeks were blazing as his gaze stared down at the non-existent space between their thighs, only separated by the fabrics of their clothes. Only one person openly held him close, and this change that didn't seem to bother her one bit brought warmth to his chest. It made him recall the few times she had snatched his hand, or shared with him— only his Doctor and her trusty companions would ever share anything with him. But maybe...

"Maybe we can figure it out..."

His bright green eyes gazed up into her striking orbs from behind his large, round spectacles.

"Together."

She stared, and god _s_ was he nervous as he waited for her response. He was too tense with anticipation that the shock of her movement was more stunning than anything, leaving him nearly frozen in his disbelief as her warm, nearly blazing hand lazily reached over and snatched hold of his. The girl, herself, seemed utterly unfazed by her action, her gaze burning into his before averting off into the distance.

" _Yes... together._ "

The spark inside him, that small ember erupted into a bonfire, filling him with a warmth and happiness he felt would no longer be temporary. His fingers intertwined with hers, his nimble fingers feeling the rough of her skin as they held hands a moment longer. Suddenly, he felt her tug on their hold as she went to stand.

" _But first, let us go get some brownies— I can smell them already._ "

...

"... I... sure."

 **September** **22** **, 1989**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

It's hard to not look back when there are constant reminders of what has passed, what is, and what might've been. I would be lying if I said I wasn't having a hard time moving on, no matter how comfortably I'd settled in. I knew it would take me at least two years to settle completely before I even thought of moving forward into a new future, but how could one forget all they've ever known?

What would be the first step in moving forward?

Tradition. This idea was brought to me by my new acquaintance who, surprisingly, just so happened to be my age. He was an orphan like myself, living with his aunt and uncle and cousin right across the street from us. I can't completely recall what the conversation— no, really— was, but after a certain point, he had mentioned that to me. I had no idea what it was, so, naturally, I looked it up.

Traditions are a curious thing.

It took me some time to grasp its meaning, but after I was given an example and was able to find something I could relate it to, it wasn't so hard to understand anymore.

Tradition is a practice of sorts that is lent down from one person to another, generally among communities from older generations to the younger ones. My... old pack, for instance; there were ceremonies held for the next Alpha in line, which can be considered tradition, or the stories passed around the bonfires we would have during the spring and autumnal equinoxes— the only times a year when night and day were about the same length.

Thinking of such things made me feel homesick all over again, despite how long it had been since she'd had an actual home. After all, it's true what they say: there's no place like home.

Even with my first fri... acquaintance— can I really call him a friend? I mean, I did literally flip a coin to decide whether I should help him out that first day at school, or not...— at my side, and two doting foster-parents, there was little to nothing that could make me feel at home in that new place. Slowly, though surely, however, I started to feel as though I was, and it all started with a tradition.

Thankfully, by the time we began to think of one, both the full moon _and_ my _heat_ had already passed, and though I was still very much recovering from both, my mind was clearer and I could finally think properly. I could vaguely remember how panicked the Harrisons had been when they found my usual quiet— mute, duh— self in a state of delirium and pain. I had felt somewhat guilty, when the whole affair had finally settled down, because I couldn't tell them why I had been in such a state to begin with, at least not without giving me away to an entire community filled with nosy people.

Anyway, back to the case in point, when we started trying to come up with traditions, I mentioned to Harry the bonfires my pack and I would have. Mr. Arnold, who had been preparing breakfast that morning, had shown interest at the mention of the equinox and explained to him how it was a day and night of perfect cosmic balance... when even eggs can sense the harmony of the celestial spheres and balance on their ends.

I don't know why he felt the need to mention that last part of the eggs and actual balance one on his nose to prove... whatever point he was trying to prove, but that was actually one of the things that prompted the start of my first tradition... with co. Or, well, the second— Harry had taken to giving me one of those purple flowers he'd given me when we'd first met in front of his house, every month. I didn't find the appeal of risking him getting in trouble with his aunt over a flower, but I was quick to get used to it and... _appreciate_ — I guess?— the gesture. I don't know; I guess having never gotten something of a gift before, I found there was something flattering about getting such a small thing every once in a while. At this point, it really wasn't the object itself that mattered, but the thought put behind it that counted most.

During the equinox, Harry and I would go out at midnight to the Harrisons' backyard with Mr. Arnold's telescope to watch for meteors. We would go out with a bagful of chocolate— have you tasted such divine creations? I have, and I've got to say I'm pretty crazy about them...— a large pizza with sausage and pepperoni... and eggs, which we would try to balance on their ends on the highest rock. This tradition would occur twice a year, during the seasonal equinoxes— a nice replacement for an old, died-out tradition.

Who knew a mute, listless girl like me could _actually_ have fun... or understand what fun meant...

I wasn't smiling yet, but what's the rush when you're already home?


	9. 3½ - A Dahlia Tradition

**November 7, 1980**

"Purple dahlias? Really, James?" a woman with long dark hair and purple eyes uttered, chuckling softly under her breath.

From a short distance, she sat with two other people, by a see-through table, watching her daughter poke— _play_ with her new _ally_ on a large patch of pretty purple flowers.

"Don't look at me, that was all my boy."

"Right, because a barely half-year-old babe would know how to plant a garden."

The pretty redheaded woman sitting between her and the man she spoke with giggled softly, sipping at her little cup with her pinky raised ever so slightly.

"He's not lying, though, Ella. James showed him that picture you'd sent us of her while we were looking through that flower catalogue my mum had sent me for flower gardens, and he instantly pointed at the purple dahlia."

"That's my boy, a hopeless romantic," the man uttered proudly.

"Just like his father," another voice suddenly spoke up, instantly catching Ella's little girl's attention.

She turned slightly in search for the owner of the voice and let out a giggle, clapping her hands as she rejoiced upon seeing the familiar woman with the pretty golden eyes making her way over to her. The woman wasn't often around, but Ella's little flower really loved it when she was. She was a lot like her mother; kind, caring, warm and gentle, and so much fun to have around.

"And I'm not the least bit ashamed of it."

The adults shared a laugh when she was suddenly distracted by her ally poking at her cheek with a finger nearly as chubby as her own, if not a little more; they must feed him a lot. She groaned softly before turning her attention to him, glaring at the attention-seeker.

"Wha?" she complained.

"Dah!"

She frowned. Was he trying to say her name? _That's not how we say it!_ Then again, she wasn't one to talk; even she couldn't pronounce it.

"Dah!"

"No," she said, copying the flat tone she'd often hear her mother use with her father.

"Dah!"

"No."

His large, bright green eyes widened and suddenly became watery.

"Now, now, _parvus dahliae_ , none of that."

The girl's frown disappeared almost instantly as her face lit up with the brightest smile, another soft giggle gurgling from the back of her throat. The teary-eyed boy glanced up at her, utterly lost it seems, his previous burst of anxiety at the girl's snap swiftly melting away as those comforting golden eyes stared kindly down at him.

"Hello, there," she greeted him brightly, wiping a smudge of chocolate from his cheek with her thumb.

The little boy gurgled a little giggle at the tickling sensing her brush of a touch had brought him.

"Well, aren't you a cute one, _parvus prasinus_ ," she chuckled.

The boy frowned suddenly, shaking his head. "Haw!"

She gave him a teasing grin. "Really?" He nodded fervently, his attention averting only slightly when his fellow toddler humphed in irritation, displeased that he had taken the woman's attention from her. "I don't know, you look more like a _parvus prasinus_."

The little boy had no idea what those words meant. Then again, he barely knew what anything meant; he was still learning.

"Why do you insist on talking to them as though they understand everything," the boy's mother called out to her.

"You mustn't underestimate children, Lily," the woman replied, amusement twinkling in her golden eyes as she watched the little green-eyed boy clumsily pluck a purple dahlia from the ground and give it to his companion. "Just because they can't speak yet, does not mean they don't understand."

His mother had once said that this particular flower represented perfection in the eyes of the one who gifted it to a certain someone. Now, he didn't know what half, if not what any of those words meant, but when he gazed at his purple-eyed companion, he felt it right to gift it to her, even if she would most likely forget about it five seconds later and throw it away.

"Would you look at this," the woman chuckled once more.

As the women smiled on at the adorable exchange, the man hollered behind them in utter disbelief; "My son's got himself a soulmate!! How did he even do that?! It took me seven years!!"

Ella smiled at them all, fondly. "Some people are just meant to be."

The girl had glanced over at them, curious. _Mate..._

Her gaze averted back to the boy sitting beside her, tugging at her curls, and stared at him wonderingly, the boy instantly looking back up at her when he felt her gaze upon him, both feeling a simultaneous strange warmth flooding through them.

A glow.

Everything seemed to swirl, unhinge and reform inside and around them as they mutely gazed into each others' eyes, mouth agape, awed by the sudden rush of feelings they could not comprehend, but one word came to mind, seeming to define the very thing.

_Mate..._

... whatever that was.


	10. 4 - Mute By Choice

**Little Whinging, Surrey, UK**

**December 23, 1989**

So... _Lilah Harrison_.

It felt odd being addressed by a name, even if it wasn't the one I was born with; for seven years, I'd only ever been called the rudest of names by the Adams;

Idiot. Moron. Useless. Worthless. Girl. Rat. Good for nothing. Waste of space.

Not even Alessia or Annabelle had known what my name was; Alessia would call me Kala, deriving the name from one of her favourite flowers— the Kalmia polifo... or whatever. She said the colour of my eyes reminded her of them and had decided to call me as such since her mother had been the one to forbid me from ever speaking, and I wasn't allowed near anything pointy or sharp, and apparently, that included any writing supply, therefore, they could never find out what my name was. Annabelle would merely call me whatever her sister would choose.

I'd never taken a liking to anyone so quickly, even less someone around my age. For the most part, that had been because I hadn't really been around anyone my age up until last year. Before that, there was only Annabelle, but she was the daughter of my former captors. Because she was the youngest, Alvah did her utmost best to keep her away from me. Never really stopped her, but either way, we never got to spend so much time together during those seven years; I was a mute slave, after all.

And then I met Miss Kathie, and it felt like the walls around me were slowly, but surely, beginning to crumble.

Moving in with the Harrisons had been quite the abrupt change of scenery. I was somewhat forced to release my grip on Miss Kathie to go with them, but my grip merely switched person; I was soon far more attached to the Harrisons than I could ever have anticipated. This longing and need to keep them at my side, I found rather worrisome; Mrs. Merilyn was so sick, it was only a matter of time before she left us.

She and Mr. Arnold were two sides of the same coin; one was nothing without the other. I could only find a sliver of fear within me at the thought of what would become of him when the time would come that he would lose her.

What would become of me? I'd vowed to myself that I would not care, for anything or anyone. I'd vowed to myself because I knew I would otherwise get hurt, one way or another. But my human emotions were too volatile for me to push to the back of my mind; I may no longer physically be able to convey what I felt, but that did not mean I did not feel at all.

And then I met Harry, and all my vows were thrown completely out the window.

It's been months now, that I've known him. Months that I've been with the Harrisons. Soon, I would have my second birthday to relish in this recently acquired freedom. And yet, with every day that passed, I feared more and more whatever lurked around the corner. Though this little, yet spacious house in Privet Drive was slowly becoming a safe haven, I felt there was more to this place than what met the eye. Was it a war? Was it supernatural?

Though I found refuge in my new, considerable family, and first, considerable fr— tolerable acquaintance, the fear remained of what awaited over the horizon.

Just as we got out of school and prepared for the upcoming celebration that was Christmas— 've got no idea what that is; didn't celebrate that with my pack, and I never celebrated much of nothing with the Adams either (I mean— slave, remember?)— for, from what Mr. Arnold had told me, it was his wife's favourite holiday.

" _Oh, okay. That sounds nice._ "

It would've sounded a _hell_ 'a nicer had I known what a holiday was then, when he'd told me.

"Well... uh, a holiday is... erm... I guess you could call it a vacation of sorts... it's a tradition... when you get to spend time off work or school to... erm... celebrate... special events."

" _And this "Christmas" is a special event?_ "

"Exactly."

" _Why?_ "

It didn't take a mind reader to understand my questions were being a bit of a pain, but, thankfully, the Harrisons were patient as ever.

"We're celebrating the birth of Jesus."

Now Jesus was someone I knew. I mean, _obviously_ , not personally, but I could faintly recall, from my earliest _good_ memories, a caretaker I had whose face I could never really remember. Before I'd learned to speak well; I believe her expressions amused greatly my younger self, especially when she would curse while forgetting I was there. When she would realize her mistake, she would stammer a great deal when I would try to repeat her words, and she would protest and try to stop my attempts, repeatedly muttering Jesus under her breath. That was one of the few fond memories I had from the time before the ambush.

Miss Kathie was also very religious, following her faith in her god through and through. Her older sister was very much the same, from what I'd noticed about catching her in a corner by the fireplace every now and then, praying to a picture of this "Jesus"— apparently the son of their god. I didn't care much for that bout of story, but I'd come to know he was a saviour, of sorts, to his people; he had my utmost respect, but...

" _... but why?_ "

I still didn't understand why he had to be celebrated. He had been a person, and he had given his life for his people ages ago. I understand people wish to honour his memory, but how does that relate to giving and receiving gifts on his supposed birthday? If anything, the day should be spent by making offerings to him, not gift exchanges.

I could tell Mr. Arnold knew no longer how to respond to my inquiries, and so I'd left it at that and decided to help him put up the decorations, a little every day, while Mrs. Merilyn took her time going to fetch what was needed for the meals; Miss Kathie was meant to come for a visit, and so was their stepfather, Mr. Banner.

By the time we'd reached the day before Christmas eve, everything had been prepared. All that was left was to begin cooking the buffet Mrs. Merilyn had prepared in advance and place that beautiful glittering metal piece of a star atop the Christmas tree, which Mr. Arnold had wanted me to do. The two of us had even woken up earlier to make sure everything is on perfect before I was sent to wake up Mrs. Merilyn while Mr. Arnold prepared a quick breakfast for the six of us; with their permission, I'd brought Harry over to stay with us for my first Christmas.

But that was when everything went wrong.

The people I was beginning to call a pair of tolerable housema—family in such a short time. The boy I was beginning to call a tolerable acq— my first friend even. It hadn't been long, but I'd almost felt my efforts in talking aloud paying off. But then...

My heart hammered against my chest when I heard hers no longer making any sound— the heartbeat I had come to treasure as I disdainfully counted the days until it would stop. I hadn't thought... she'd seemed so well in the past few days...

And then...

She suddenly looked so frail, I remembered she'd been sick since before I'd met her. I remembered how I could tell, right then, that she wouldn't last much longer. I remembered gradually trying to distance myself the more she grew closer to me, afraid of being too attached I wouldn't handle her being gone.

I remembered the shock shooting through my body when I touched her face and it was just so cold against my burning touch.

I'd immediately recoiled in instant realization, pushing all the way to the other end of the room, crashing against the large wooden vanity, shattering the mirror behind me with sheer, unintended force. My body was shaking, fingers digging into the wood as Mr. Arnold's footsteps pounded up the stairs upon hearing the shattering glass. I was in a corner, when he arrived, sat trembling with my knees to my chest, gazing up at him with big, watering eyes. Eyes that had not shed a single droplet in eight years.

Miss Kathie and Mr. Banner had both rushed in, not long after, both of their expressions saddening the moment realization kicked in almost just as instantly upon finding Mr. Arnold, who'd fallen into a fit of hysterics as he cradled his unresponsive wife's body in his arms, calling desperately out for her to wake up, even though we all knew she never would.

Harry was last to come in, blinking his exhaustion away upon seeing the look on my face, and thenward that of everyone else in the room. He quietly walked over to me and knelt beside me, wordlessly reaching a hand out to one of mine, forcing it open so he could hold on to it. I could tell, by the way his trembling fingers entangled with mine, that he wished to comfort me, but I was struck with so many emotions at once, I no longer knew how I was meant to feel. I barely even reacted when he squeezed my hand, or when Miss Kathie rushed over upon taking notice of my state and kneeling down before me as well. I didn't even react when she pulled me into her arms. I just... let them hold me. I let them comfort me. I let them do what they thought best, though I could barely feel anything enough to react.

I'd vowed to myself that I would not care. I'd vowed to myself because I knew I would otherwise get hurt. And yet...

I cared. And then, I lost. And then, I got hurt.

And my second birthday spent in this recently acquired freedom was spent at a funeral. I'd never been to one; I don't think I would ever want to again. I'd never been good with feelings, but this was simply too much. What changes I'd hoped would be for the best ending just as I'd feared.

And I knew for certain things wouldn't end here.

**March 2, 1990**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

Today, nine years ago, I ran for my life. The moment I'd ran, however, I knew I would never live in peace again. Crossing paths with the Adams had not proven me wrong. I'd suffered at their hand for seven years but, just when I'd lost all hope, I found my escape and was taken to what felt like something akin to a haven for people like myself.

For orphans.

I became acquainted with the newer technological developments the world had come to offer over the years. I was introduced to what they called music, plays, television— an amazing visual form of entertainment... that would malfunction every time I was near it. Despite this, I was somehow able to be introduced to live-broadcast news and amazing films; my favourite, by far, was the one of the wars among the stars— it was very creative.

Anything that involved those wolf skin-wearers or life-sucking demons, I despised. Seriously, that Teen Wolf movie was an irritating attempt at the supernatural, and that Nick Knight film was just stupid— no wonder the network, or whatever the heck it's called, refused to opt it as a television series... whatever that means. One of the kids at the orphanage had told me this, though I only understand but little over half of what she told me. Also, that movie with that blonde vampire slayer— so very unrealistic. Didn't help that it was a cartoon animated film with dreadful drawings and special effects.

Aside from those monstrosities, I came upon multiple works that were considered more "realistic," depicting more personal problems like that of an orphan or such. Because I was one in few who got lucky for being received at Bellefaire, I knew not if it were possible that some bad experiences occurred in other orphanages. Then again, taking into account all I'd endured under captivity, I would just check it off as possible.

What had stumped me most were some stories where the parents were the abusers. I was struck to the core with that kind, for I'd never undergone any form of abuse when I'd lived with my pack. Well, from what I can remember; and neither had anyone else I'd known. This didn't make me any less worried, however, when it'd come to my attention how much I seemed to allure parents that came in every once in a while to have a look at who they would want to adopt. I was never comfortable with the idea of having another parent, but I'd made the exception when Miss Kathie had told me about her sister's situation. My response was instant, but my latest discoveries had kept me alert.

It appears I wasn't wrong to not ignore my gut-feeling.

Merilyn Harrison passed away on the twenty-third of December of last year. For weeks after, Mr. Arnold became a very quiet man—a stark contrast to his former happy-go-lucky persona. From what I'd gotten to know of him, he was an optimist, never losing hope, not even in the direst moments. But grief was inevitable, especially when you lost someone that meant the world to you.

I knew how that felt, more than anyone. Being a soul-shifter was a wondrous thing, but the keyword in the name had entailed more than just shifting into different animals. If you were apart of a pack, such as myself, your mind and soul would be linked to all other members. This meant that, if they got hurt, you would feel it.

If their life was taken from them, you would feel it.

I wasn't connected to either of them; gods forbid, I endure that immense pain I'd felt _that_ night all over again. That didn't mean I didn't feel anything. However, it seems I'd come to find better ways to cope with such a loss. Mr. Arnold, on the other hand...

The weeks following Mrs. Merilyn's passing, I'd begun to teach myself how to build things from wood. My mate's father used to build wooden things endlessly, from little toys to birdhouses, to park contraptions. Whenever my mother would leave me in Chance's care, we would go admire his father's handiwork, and even get to watch him as he worked sometimes.

As the weeks passed, I relayed my desire of construction to Mr. Banner, and managed to get a hold of lots of wood and, shortly then, I taught myself the job and began to build a tree-house atop the large tree in the side-yard I'd become rather enamoured with since I'd moved in nearly a year ago. I was quite a fast worker, and by the time February came to end, my little house had been completed. I'd decorated it with drapes and carpets thick enough you could sleep on them, and even added this little box Mr. Banner called a "cooler"; it kept the food stored within it at a cool temperature. I even made a few custom adjustments, building in a little mechanism that would lift the roof, revealing the beauty of the sky.

Mr. _Harrison_ , on the other hand...

Following the passing of his wife, it was almost as though a switch was flipped in the back of his mind and done so continuously onward. There were moments he would be his normal self; quiet, calm— every bit the lawyer he was. He would be kind as ever, and understanding as well— every bit the father he yearned to be. But then, with a very bad-smelling— and disturbingly bitter-tasting— drink in hand... after bottles and bottles, he would become aggravating, harsh... nothing like the man I'd come to know. And then...

His once soft, gray eyes became cold and distant. There were moments they'd fire up with something akin to insanity as they would glow with flecks of the oddest shade of blue I had ever seen— a blue I had seen only _once_ before.

And then...

I had never feared anyone more than I'd feared Christophe Adams, but if this were a competition, Arnold Harrison could give the mutt a run for his money.

Weeks within the new year, Mr. Harrison became recluse and quiet, his spontaneity gone altogether. He didn't encourage me to talk anymore, didn't encourage me to do much of anything. Every good grade I brought from school no longer rejoiced him; he would merely stare at the page, then utter something along the lines of how anyone could do better, yet how pointless it was— how pointless everything was. At this point, I couldn't tell whether his new behaviour toward me was intentional or just him grieving, but I knew I had to help him somehow.

I started cleaning around the house every so often, as well as cooking for the two of us, but I began to avoid him the instant I notice him becoming more and more agitated. But then...

When he started talking a bit more again, I listened. I listened and paid attention, but I kept my distance; it didn't matter if he woke up one day and told himself he should talk more again. I could see the crazed look in his eyes every time we crossed paths, and something told me to stay away. I was tempted, more times than I could count, to contact Miss Kathie and have her take me back to Bellefaire, but this man needed help.

I couldn't just leave him.

But then...

I grew more frightened than cautious, day after day. I would try to stay out as much as I could to avoid his unpleasant mood swings, spending time with Harry either in the park or in my tree-house. Whence March the second came around, my own mood was not in the greatest place. On this exact day, nine years ago, I'd lost my family. The grief I'd pushed down for so long resurfaced, along with the sadness I felt after losing Mrs. Merilyn. But I was not the only one grieving that day.

Later that afternoon, I had slowly made my way home after walking Harry to his aunt's house. As per usual, Harry had stuck by me the whole day, glancing over at me every now and again with more concern upon my revealing the anniversary of my parents' loss. He'd told me how he'd lost his parents that same year in a car crash. While the way the loss came to happen was utterly far apart from being similar, he still understood my pain of having lost them, so when he tried to get close to me, I let him.

I couldn't find any fibre in my body that wished to push him away.

Harry was like a little brother to me... well, not _that_ little since he's only but seven months younger than me. Every day since Merilyn's passing, I regretted having left the mild comfort of my four-walled plain room at the Bellefaire orphanage. But then, had I never left, I probably wouldn't have _ever_ known Harry.

 _Harry_. Poor Harry.

Sure, he didn't have to endure the blazing inferno I'd been stuck in for seven years, but his aunt, uncle, and cousin are just horrible! They like me for some unknown reason, but the way they are with Harry... it's disgusting. I mostly hate his cousin, not only because he likes beating Harry up, but also because he won't quit this odd flattering of his whenever he's around me, despite the fact that I showed him up in front of everyone in our class back on our first day of school.

It's seriously disgusting.

This disdain toward the Dursleys, however, would always dim some upon my afternoon return to the Harrison residence. That second day of March was the first time my fear of the man I had almost once looked upon as a second father amplified until it froze my entire being.

After soundlessly dropping my bag by the coat-hanger near the entrance, I warily advanced toward the doorway of the living room upon hearing a faint murmur. I walked further into the darkened house and stilled upon finding Mr. Harrison sitting by the fireplace, talking to himself in between hiccups and uncontrollable... you know, that thing one does when you pour lots of eye-droplets and you can barely talk because you're in complete hysteria? Yeah, that.

"It's her fault..." He repeated this over and over again; I could feel the fear in me growing more and more.

He hadn't noticed me walking in until, suddenly, as though a wild horse catching sent of a hunter nearby, his head snapped up and his gaze bore into my frightened one, all but staring into my soul. What struck me first the crazed look that had returned into his eyes. Another thing was the fact that his eyes were no longer that deep gray hue I'd gotten used to, but rather were glowing that strange shade of blue I'd caught glimpses of every now and again. Truly, they were glowing, and the more I stared, the more I could see that hint of spinel red intensifying.

I'd never seen a human move so fast, it was almost a blur to _me._ I was scared for my life, even more so when he took hold of me, he hands like vices around my thin arms, gripping so hard I could feel my red fluid stop flooding through my limbs as I stared at him wide-eyed, mouth open in shock.

I'd almost spoken out of fright. I'd almost _screamed_.

But nothing but a gasp audible to a measly mouse could be heard as my lips trembled like the rest of me.

"IT'S YOUR FAULT! IT'S ALL YOUR BLOODY FREAKIN' FAULT!"

But I hadn't done anything. And yet...

"IT'S ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT!!"

This was the first time he'd lifted a hand at me. He didn't just grip at my arms and yell. No; that crazed look really made him go far beyond that, it almost felt I was back at the Adams. There was no one I could tell, because...

Who would listen to a girl who couldn't speak?

 **June 11** **, 1990** **— 6:41 AM**

**No one's P.O.V.**

"I know I told you to keep an eye on him while I'm away—"

"You're away a lot— do you know how much emotional damage neglect does?"

"I am not neglecting him, I am re-shaping this world in order to build a better future for him."

"Meanwhile, while Yenn gets to suddenly have a vacation—"

"I sent her on an important mission."

"— Nadia and I are left to write records of our cinnamon roll."

"Yes, I _did_ tell you to _observe_ and write any notes on him, but this is just ridiculous, Howl."

There were piles upon piles of sheets, filled to the brim with reports written in the smallest writing, all single-spaced and double-sided. For someone who hated paperwork as much as his friend and employer, he really went all out when writing his nearly daily reports on her protege.

"When I said observe and write, I meant on his health— physical and emotional, not what his reactions to eating sushi are— how did you even get him to eat that?"

As if her work as a doctor didn't keep her busy enough, adding her duty as the _founder_ and CEO of MK Industries, a near globally dominant corporation that began as a simple sponsor to the foundation of the _Orphan Asylum Society_ , Howl was really pushing past her limit.

She huffed and grumbled, running a hand through her burgundy streaked, chocolate curls. "It's like you're doing this on purpose."

That man— a jokester for the most part, always sought to go far and beyond what she told him... not always in a good way. As much as she appreciated him as a person, he was just too much for her to handle sometimes. It was like living with a man-child.

"That's because I _did_ do that on purpose."

She groaned, her head slamming against her wooden desk out of exhaustion and irritation. "And why is that?"

He shrugged, sitting on the chair opposite from her, plopping his feet on the nearest ottoman. "Well, it did get your attention, didn't it? I swear, it's like whatever the kid tells ya just goes into one ear, then slips out the other." He sighed. "I almost feel even _worse_ for him."

"I always hear him out," she objected.

"You hear, sure, but you don't always necessarily listen."

His wording hauled her attention further toward him, prompting her to drag her head up to stare at him intensively, golden eyes piercing through the curtains of her unruly hair.

"Interesting choice of words," she commended. "Taking my teachings to prove a point; I respect that."

She dragged herself up, her posture rigid as she straightened out of her slumped form, back pressed against the hard wood of her chair.

"What is it then? What have I missed?"

The raven-haired man smirked, almost humorlessly. "I have great respect for you, Master. Spending all _your_ time shaping and re-shaping the world... just for a select amount of people. However, I couldn't help but notice... you run the instant the time comes."

Her gaze steeled as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You must have mistaken my role then."

"Then what is your role?"

Sky met sun in a quiet but intense stare-off, the usually very jovial man looking anything but cheerful at that moment as he stared at the woman who had saved his own life, just like that of numerous others. After losing the love of his life, and nearly everything else he had left— which wasn't much to begin with— she had come to his rescue, giving him a reason to live. A goal to pursue.

It was all a matter of time before it came to fruition; it wasn't like time was much of an issue for him anyway.

"First, tell me what the hell is wrong. Then, I just _might_ share further on my own predicament."

"Well... for starters, Lilah's here. And when I say "here" I mean here in London. It's funny, actually; she's his neighbour— but some shite is going down right now, and has been for a while. There's something wrong with the Harrison bloke, and—"

"Wait, wait, hold on a second, Howl!" She leaned forward, piercing gaze hardening at the insinuation behind his every word. "Who on earth are you talking about?"

"Huh?" He blinked for a moment before giving her a sheepish look. "Oh, Lilah. As in, Delilah Hawkins."

You could practically hear a pin drop from how eerily quiet it had become as the woman blinked, seemingly having a hard time processing the _very new_ information.

"... huh?"

**One day earlier — 3:48 PM**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

I sat in my room, laying on my bed, staring up at the dull white ceiling of my even duller bedroom, as I waited for Harry to come back from school. I didn't go today because the hits I got last night were very rough on my person; if someone such as myself was able to feel such a pain, that was saying something, considering how high my pain tolerance had become since my first phase. It hurt, especially the cuts that were too deep. I sighed, slightly wincing at the aches in my stomach.

I remember... there were fists pounding hard against my face. There were those cold shanks slicing against my skin. There were those moments I would be thrown into a wall or a door... I don't know, it always varied.

I would go back to school the next day as if nothing happened, but the reality of it all was that I had no idea what to do.

I'd run before, but for all I knew, that driver could've taken me somewhere far from civilization and kept me to himself like the Adams. And yet, I'd had my freedom secured against all odds. And now, I was right back where I started. Who could I tell?

_Who would listen to a girl who couldn't speak?_

Harry was there for me, but... we were both just kids.

"Lilah! Harry's here to see you!"

I leaped out of my bed, quickly grabbed a hoodie from my dresser and put it on before heading for the staircase, having care of how I descended them for fear I'd trip in my weakened state, and fall all the way down.

As soon as I'd made it to the last step, I ran to my friend as fast as I could, my lips twitching at his little giggle upon witnessing my eagerness to see him, my bare feet pounding softly against the wooden floorboards as I made way to him. I glanced down the hall and saw none other than small, ten-year-old Harry looking back at me, a huge goofy grin on his face, a purple flower in hand, as he did every month. I could faintly see that scar of his that he never let me outright see or touch resting on his forehead, underneath that mop of a head he called a comfortable hair-cut.

Like most of every day, he wore a bunch of Dudley's, his fat and stupid cousin, old clothes that didn't seem to fit him any longer. His round glasses looked like they had a new layer of Scotch tape on them, which meant that Dudley had decided to pick on Harry for over the twentieth time today.

That angered me.

I marched straight over to Harry. He gave me a confused look, upon seeing the stern look on my face. Before he could say anything, I took his glasses right off his face and examined them.

I ran my thumb along the spot where Dudley had broken them. Harry just stood there, speechless. I breathed on the lenses of the glasses, then carefully rubbed them with a handkerchief I'd taken to keep on my person at all times, cleaning them off with it. I held them towards the light, hoping they had gotten at the very least a little cleaner from my attempt. And they were! They were literally see-through... or maybe the lens popped out? I poked a nail against one socket and sighed, relieved I hadn't broken it any further by accident, before handing him back his glasses, which he instantly took and put back on.

I then went on to grab his face, tilting it from side to side to see if there was any more damage. His breathing hitched for a few seconds before he groaned.

"Lilah," he complained.

My response was very obvious through the deadpanned look I sent his way. " _No_." One word was firm enough.

Letting go of him, I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest, staring at him with a frown on my face, silently inquiring what had happened; honestly, we would totally be a two-people pack from how well he seemed to read me, seemingly knowing what I was said by simply looking at my face.

" _What did the gang of idiots do this_ _time?_ "

"Nothing," he mumbled, gripping his sides.

I raised a brow at him, unimpressed. " _Harry_." I stepped forward and, ever so gently, pocked his sides.

He flinched. "Lilah," he whined.

 _Well, I thought I was gentle._ Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his hand and led him toward the kitchen. " _Oh, quit whining_ _already_ _. What did they do?_ "

I grabbed an ice-pack from the freezer and wrapped it with a towel.

"They chased me at recess. I almost got away but...." Harry trailed off.

I shook my head in disappointment, placing the pack on one of his sides while softly massaging the other.

My lips twitched as I attempted to smile, but felt them curl into a grimace, earning a small giggle from his part. With a roll of my eyes, I flicked him softly on the chin before lifting his head to meet his gaze.

" _Do not worry, I will be there tomorrow_."

He stared at me for a moment, and for a moment I worried he'd caught how my lips had not moved as I spoke into his head; early last year, before I'd moved in with the Harrisons, I'd discovered the ability to expand a pack mind-link to... well, outside a pack. Basically, I could speak telepathically with anyone I wished to speak with, but I knew I could not risk bringing any superhuman ability to light in front of regular people, so I practiced the ability until I was able to mask the fact that the words went from my mind to any whom I'd felt comfortable with.

The first person had been Miss Kathie; she was the only one who knew the truth. Well... I couldn't exactly hide it after I'd accidentally phased into a fox, my second soul animal, right in front of her after having woken up from a nightmare. Apparently, there were times I sleep-walked, and that had been one of them; she'd stayed up late that night and found me wandering on my own outside of the orphanage. When she had tried to stop me from going any further, I phased, and the cracking and snapping of my bones had startled me awake.

After coming to feel some sort of trust toward the Harrisons, I tried this ability with them and was never discovered, so I went on to use it every now and again outside the house. The only other person I constantly used it with was Harry, but he never seemed to notice my lips were not moving either. Well, there were times he would stare at me for a long moment, and I'd almost think I'd given myself away, but then he would just go on and about like it was nothing. If he had noticed, I don't think he really minded.

What he did mind, it seems, was that I was always putting effort to protect him.

He groaned. "That's the thing. I don't want you to be the one protecting me. It's supposed to be the other way around!"

Well, there's my proof. I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I put the ice-pack away. Grabbing the flower he held out for me to take, I quickly placed it in a vase filled with water, then set it down in the center of the dining table before grabbing his hand and leading him outside towards my tree-house out in the yard.

" _Mars_ _B_ _ar?_ " I offered once we had settled in.

He nodded and grabbed two from the cooler on the side. He then reached out to lift the small patch from the ceiling so we could look up at the sky before coming to settle beside me on the carpeted floor of my little, makeshift house, laying down beside me. For a moment, we remained silent, just admiring the changing colours in the sky before simultaneously uttering a sigh. I blinked and looked back at him, finding him looking my way at the same time before we burst into a small fit of snickers, the act, altogether, startling me.

I hadn't uttered anything short of a snort in the past nine years.

" _I wish it would always be this way._ "

He gave me a small smile, grabbing my hand and squeezing it slightly. "Yeah, just you and me and—"

" ** _Mars_** ** _B_** ** _ars!_** "

His words had rung with the afternoon wind, shouted in unison with my silent exclamation for my favourite snack before we burst into another fit of snickers. After a moment, I found myself frowning upon noticing his grimace upon rubbing his cheek with his free hand.

I reached up and gently touched a finger to his cheek, gazing at him worriedly. " _What is wrong?_ "

"Just aches a little bit," he uttered admittedly.

I felt my lower lip momentarily jutting out before I instinctively nuzzled my nose against his cheek, pulling away, wide-eyed, when I realized what I had done.

Red-faced, Harry stared at me, his bright green eyes just as wide. "Erm... thanks. I... erm... feel better?"

I felt my face heating up before I buried it against his shoulder in an attempt to hide the unsettled feeling I felt was beginning to creep unto my face, emitting a giggle from his part.

"It's fine, I don't mind, Lilah," he said softly, trying to pull me away in an attempt to have me look at him. "I really do feel better."

I scoffed. " _Please_."

I could practically feel the disbelief entangled with my... _unsettle_ ment radiating out of me.

Harry merely giggled before I felt him shift slightly about, suddenly feeling warmer when he wrapped one of those large drapes I'd keep out here around us. He then pulled me closer, curling further into me.

"I really do wish we could stay this way," he mumbled, echoing my earlier thoughts. "Like this, forever."

" _We would probably only make it to two hundred years._ "

"Then we'd make it to two hundred years together."

My lips twitched slightly, a soft sigh whisking through nostrils. " _If only we could just pack our bags and leave_."

"Or... we could run away... now," he whispered.

I blinked and looked up, surprised by his words.

"Just you and me," he insisted. "What if we just left... and made our own home?"

I gave him a sad look. " _And where exactly would a pair of ten-year-olds go?_ " His face saddened and I instantly felt guilty for saying that. I sighed and lightly nuzzled my nose against his chin. " _Harry, you know this is not something we can_ _just up and_ _run away from_ _._ "

I'd run before. Or at the very least attempted it, multiple times. The first time got me captured by the Adams. Then, I had tried many times to escape them, for years, and simply never could. It was but a strike of sheer luck when I finally managed to get away— sheer dumb luck and a supernatural phenomenon. It was absolute hell what I'd had to endure— I can't drag him into that kind of world.

Sure, his family was horrible— what family forced you to live in a cupboard? Neglected you, to the point they acted as though you did not exist. At least they didn't physically abuse them... well, except for Dudley, but that boy was just too... mentally challenged suddenly start thinking differently from how he'd been brought up to feel.

"I... I know," he mumbled.

" _I_ would _run with you, though,_ " I whispered truthfully into his mind. " _If we could._ "

We stayed silent for a long while, just staring up at the darkening sky. It was nice. Just being here, the two of us, not worrying about the way we would be treated when we left this little wooden house of mine.

"Lilah, promise me we will always be best friends."

I blinked, startled by his demand and choice of wording. Best... friend? Was that what he saw me as?

For a moment, I remained silent, unsure of how to react or reply. Finally, mind made up, I glanced up at him with a soft look and nuzzled my nose against his cheek once more, an act of affection toward Harry, my... _best_ _friend_.

" _Not if you do not promise me too_ ," I murmured into his mind.

He smiled. "Of course I promise," he said in a way that suggested his reply was the most obvious thing in the world.

Content, I rested my head on his shoulder, reaching down to grab a hold of his hand. " _Then I, too, give_ _you_ _my word._ "

"Lily?"

" _Hmmm?_ "

"Would you promise something else?" he asked.

" _I am listening._ "

"Promise me you'll never leave me," he whispered.

I looked up into his eyes. " _I promise. Even if I could, I would never leave_ you."

"Boy?! BOOY?!"

I cringed at the sound of Vernon Dursley's yell while Harry sighed and got up, pulling me up as well.

We carefully climbed down the tree-house and made our way to the front of the house. "See you tomorrow?"

I nodded as I wrapped my arms around him, upon feeling his around me, holding tightly onto me.

" _Yes, sleep well tonight_."

Surely, I would not.

**5:32 PM**

People always wondered why I didn't speak, why I was mute. Initially, it was a rule. I wasn't allowed to utter a single noise, or I would be— there would be consequences. After some time, it just became more of a second nature rather than a rule I was following. Things would get worse when I made noise, be it a whimper or a scream, the pain only ever grew with the slightest sound that came from my mouth. The pain, eventually spread to my throat, and by then it wasn't a matter of following a rule, or having grown used to not speaking anymore; I just couldn't speak.

Though I barely understood half of what I heard, I knew the doctor— Cullen had been right. I'd felt it, whenever I did try to push myself to speak when I was left to myself. The pain was almost as unbearable as when my bones would break and reshape during my morphing times. There would be a tightening, almost suffocating sensation keeping me from pushing any further; even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to talk.

My throat— my lungs were damaged. Were they beyond repair? Would I remain mute forever? I had stopped caring after a while, because I found no point in it at all. I didn't have a family, someone I cared about so much that I would push myself so far.

I'm not gonna lie; there were instances I just felt a little too curious about what I might sound like. I hadn't heard my own voice since I was two years old, and I was curious as to how much it had changed. I bet it would sound horrible at first— after all, it has been a while. I'm sure if I tried now, it wouldn't be so bad. My throat had begun to heal since I'd began living at Bellefaire under the watchful eyes of Miss Kathie and Dr. Cullen.

As promised, he sent me the same prescription every month, and this medicine was meant to help with my lungs. At this point, I couldn't even tell whether the medicine had actually worked, or if it were my own regenerative system that had kicked in; if it were the former, wouldn't my extreme body temperature have burned it out, nullifying the effect of the medicine as soon as I had digested it? I honestly wonder, because if it were the latter— wouldn't I have been cured already?!

Frankly, the main reason I was still mute was truly simple.

I chose to remain as such.

I wasn't lying when I said I probably would be able to do so right about now. Despite how slow the healing of my lungs has been, it's pretty much almost fully healed. Dr. Cullen had told me I might still feel pain, even after it's fully healed, but that was only natural, especially if I'd spent so long with my lungs this damaged without immediate treatment. The lack of practice in using them for anything other than breathing was another factor as well. And that pain was there; whenever I took one simple breath, I felt a strain and a very discomforting tightness in my throat. It wasn't as unbearable as it used to be, but it was very disconcerting either way.

Frankly, I feel it would be worse if I'd disliked silence, but, fortunately, that wasn't the case. Silence was my friend; I could tune the world out while enduring all of any pain cast upon me and relish in the warmth that came with that quietude. So, yeah; I was mute by my own choice because— well, who would ever hear out a freak like me anyway?

Certainly not the gods, it seems.

Harry seemed willing, but... well, let's face it; the kid's as lonely as I am. I'm sure he's almost as desperate as I am to have some kind of friend, even if it is some weird mute girl. I guess, in the end, it was a good thing I came here to London after all, even with the unknown, impending threat hovering right out—

_BAM!_

**5:56 PM**

Once again, things seemed to happen in a flash of a second, door banging shut behind me, and my head banging, nearly open, against the nearest wall. I often wondered where Arnold's new-found strength came from; it was almost supernatural. Honestly, he wouldn't, otherwise, be able to take me on, never mind my small physique. His anger had reached a high impossible to reach otherwise, had he not drunken any of that disturbingly smelly drink of his he likes to down bottles of; I could tell from the smell of his breath.

By this point in time, I had not regained enough strength to make a run for it. In a matter of hours, he seemed to beat me to the point I would get upon enduring days of under the Adams' captivity, and, yet again, I found myself wondering how exactly had I landed in this very familiar situation. The first time around, I understood; werewolves are real _bitches_. But this man... the once sweet and caring Arnold Harrison...

He was out of his _bloody_ mind.

I could barely even remember how it started, at this point, but I wanted it to end. I was tired of all this pain... all this needless pain I knew I did not deserve. I wanted Miss Kathie to hurry on her way; she was due another visit here soon, but it felt as though soon was just coming soon enough. I wanted to run to her side and get away from this filthy place.

I wanted to tear myself from his clawing grip. To avoid the pain that would come in a few seconds from flying into my old wooden wardrobe.

I could feel my eyes watering for the second time in the past nine years as the large slicks of splinters dug into my back. I lifted my hand as if to protect myself, but then the red liquid oozing from my arm caught my attention, and I watched as it endlessly oozed out of my body, from my back... from my head... from my arm...

I needed medical attention, but then... wouldn't that be a bad idea? I would be giving away what I am, which is meant to remain a secret.

I got up and started dragging myself towards the door, but he grabbed me again and threw me at the wall, leaving it slightly dented from the impact. He marched towards me and yanked me back by my hair.

"Where did you think you were going, eh? Hope you weren't thinking of getting away because that will hurt a lot, sweetheart."

His voice was deeper than I'd last remembered hearing just a few hours ago, and it held that same crazed edge to it that matched his abnormal eyes, his words resonating in a frightening sing-song tone.

He turned my body around in one fluid move and pined my knees. He started probing at my limbs, yet again, with that metal skank of his, he seemed to favour so much. I could feel him carving something over the scarred words on my abdomen.

I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I screamed.

_My throat burned as the sound whisked through and out my chapped lips._

"SHUT UP YOU THE LITTLE FREAK! LITTLE FIEND! _NOBODY_ LIKES YOU! _EVERYBODY_ HATES YOU!"

The droplets would not leave my eyes like the sound that flowed out of me, and though I knew where I was and who with, my mind brought me back to the prison that was the Adams' house as the blade continued to pierce through my skin. I endured the pain until my mind would no longer run with adrenaline and just shut down, my consciousness slipping from my grasp.

I felt like I was _dying_ , but I couldn't accept that. I _can't_ die. Just hours ago, I promised Harry I would never leave him.

_I can't die now._

**8:13 PM**

When I came back to, I was under the same pain I had been the night I'd escaped the Adams. Again, today, I dragged myself along the floor towards the exit of my obliterated bedroom but stopped when I felt something sticking from my thigh. I looked down and blinked, startled upon finding a knife sticking out from my limb. Clenching my jaw, I gripped the red-stained handle and sucked in a breath before yanking it out, biting my tongue out in the process. The sudden feeling of that familiar thick, metallic substance oozed its way into my mouth, coming out of my tongue as I threw the dagger at the other end of the room and resumed dragging myself down the spiralling staircase.

As I neared the entrance, I pushed myself up and started limping more quickly towards it. Just as I was about to leave, I heard the same dark, venom-filled voice that said evil all over it once you heard it at home.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?!" he spat, still dressed in his red-stained work suit.

No. Gods, please, no.

It was then I noticed the rife he was holding in his left hand...

You have got to be _shitting_ me!

"You won't because I'd have shot you!" he spoke, then positioned the gun, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Gods, please... someone— _anyone_ , save me.

"It's your fault," he uttered in a decisive tone. "You deserve to die."

I didn't hesitate this time. Ignoring the pain shooting through my body, I pushed myself to my feet and ran out as he shot in my direction, missing by _just_ a few inches. I don't know what went through my head as I ran towards an alley. I stopped dead in my tracks when I caught sight of a group of really _big_ guys. They stared at me and shared a few smirks between themselves. I slowly started backing away, but someone grabbed me and pulled me backwards behind them.

"Stay behind," he said.

What the— okay, I know this sounds exaggerated, but I feel his mood swings will literally be the death of me.

"Hey, old man," said one of the guys. "Why don't you share the girl a bit?"

"Yeah," said another. "We'd like to... _play_ with her."

He glowered at them. "What is wrong with you?! She's a child!"

"All more fun and games." The men laughed as Mr. Arnold growled furiously at them.

"Over my dead body," he spat.

Another guy smirked at him and raised an arm. "That can be arranged."

My eyes widened as I saw what the man was holding.

" _NO!_ "

Without a second thought, I ran in front of _my dad_ just as a loud 'bang' echoed through the air, a short pain shooting from my chest, just above where I knew my heart to be. I couldn't make much sense of anything else as my senses dulled and my mind became clouded, sight hazy and spinning.

"No! Lilah! You son of a bitch— you shot my daughter! You'll pay for that!"

Another 'bang' rang through the air, followed by another, and many others after before the sound of something falling with a 'thump' to the ground reached my ears, silence ensuing. The silence remained for a while and I finally felt myself relax despite the pain I was enduring, and the circumstances alike.

"Lilah?"

Slowly, but surely, my eyes fluttered open as I tilted my head to glance to my side where I saw him crawling his way toward me. I couldn't help but think how truly pathetic we were; a crazed man and a cursed child falling to their death after getting hit with the likes of a human's weapon.

" _Mister Ar..._ " My lips parted momentarily, a grimace curling unto my chapped lips at the familiar tightness in my throat. "... _Daddy?_ "

The darkness was consuming me, my mind fading in and out; at that moment, I saw my father and not the grieving man who hurt me almost endlessly for the past couple of months. Upon finally reaching me, he grabbed me and weakly brought his arms around me.

"I'm so, so sorry, Lilah. I love you so much, please don't die," he chocked out as his grip on me was loosening.

I blinked slowly, glancing up at him with watering eyes. " _It is okay_ _..._ _I forgive you_."

"I don't deserve it," he cried out. "God knows, I don't deserve you."

I looked at him and noticed how his eyes were gray yet again. I had missed that.

" _It is okay_ ," I repeated. " _You were not yourself_." I feebly reached a hand up, my fingers staining his cheek with red. " _You are now_."

He wept as he held me to him, repeating apology after apology. In the state I was in, all I could do was accept his apology because it _wasn_ _'_ _t his fault_.

**8:41 PM**

I don't know what happened. I don't know how he came to be the crazed man he became over the last few months. It was a funny thing, however, how I got him back just as I lost him.

I hate life.

" _Daddy... please... do not leave me_."

"I'm right here, baby," he whispered in my ear. I uttered a painful sigh of relief. "I'm not going anywhere; I promise, my little flower."

My eyes watered even more as he called me what only one other person had ever called me.

**9:02 PM**

We were silent for a while and I had started to think he was already gone, but I sighed in relief, once again, when I heard his heart beating against his chest. The beats were faint and slow, like mine, but at least they were still audible.

" ** _When I'm down and feeling scared... I know I should take a chance; the world is sitting right here... in the palm of my hand_** _._ "

I glanced up and found his eyes closed as he feebly threaded his fingers through my head, his voice barely above a whisper as he sang softly in my ear that song... I loved that song. He once told me he'd heard it in a record about eight or nine years ago; it had been Mrs. Merilyn's favourite song, in turn becoming his. He never found the record again, nor did he find out who sang it, but he remembered every single word and note of it. I didn't know many songs myself, but in the short while I'd known him, it became my favourite too.

" ** _I'm flying higher than before, and giving up is not a choice... I'll push the doubt aside... and step into the spotlight..._** "

For a moment, he made no other sound, and I chanced another glance up at him. Blinking hard, I nuzzled my nose against his.

" _Daddy?_ " I probed into his mind, but he did not answer.

I felt the droplets finally slid from my eyes, my body shaking against his motionless one. Suddenly, I felt my bones cracking, my body morphing, shifting, bones breaking in reforming as my skin suddenly sprouted black fur, my whole being shrinking about two feet till I stood on all fours, my head tilted toward the sky as I howled my heart out, my sorrow seeping into my cry.

**11:27 PM**

I could hear the distant howls of other canines nearby, and, suddenly, the light, familiar footsteps pounding against the concrete floor as it searched for us.

"Arnold?! Lilah?!"

Of course! Of course, my prayer would be answered when it was too late! Too late... he was gone.

Life was like a female werewolf— a total bitch.

My howls continued, only fading to a start when she found us. By then, they had reduced into whimpers from, both, physical and emotional pain; I'd never known how to feel, but, now, everything I _did_ feel was just all over the place.

"Oh, Lilah..."

I let her wrap me in her coat and carry me in her arms to wait in a corner while the police showed up. There was no need for any explanation; though the thugs had left the scene already, the evidence was all there.

 **June 11** **, 1990** **—** **12:11 AM**

When I'd managed to phase back into my human self without attracting any suspicion, I wasn't questioned. For one, I was the mute girl. For two, I was the girl who had just been shot to near death and had simultaneously lost her father, albeit a fostering parent. It was hours before I was released, with her help and I didn't even bat an eye when she decided she would take me back.

I barely noticed the travel we made back to Bellefaire, my mind and being as a whole slowly slithering back into my shell. I barely noticed as I was taken back to the room that had been mine less than a year ago. Barely noticed how, yet again, the droplets slid from my eyes as I thought back to my dear and only friend.

Whatever hope for a better life I'd had was gone, but not my hope in him. I broke my promise to him, but I vowed to one day make it up to him, for at this moment, he was all that mattered to me in the world.

" _I am sorry, Harry. I have broken our promise. But I will be back for you... this promise, I shall never break_."

**6:46 AM**

**No one's P.O.V.**

The Doctor lost her composure as she shot to her feet, hands slamming against the flat surface of her desk, shrieking in absolute disbelief at the new bout of information.

"What the hell do mean " _she_ 's here," Howl?!"

"Well... just that?"

The reply came out as a question as he became nervous under the glower of her suddenly glowing golden eyes.

"In the county?" he continued. "And just so happens to live right across the street from Harry?"

" _WHAT?!_ "

"Yeah." He forced a very pained bit of laughter as he scooted back in his seat. "Imagine our surprise when we recognized the purple-eyed little hy—"

"How long has she been here?! Who with?! And how have I not been notified of this?!"

"It's not my fault you're always somewhere else around the globe," he was quick to defend himself.

She gave him a look of disbelief. "You _literally_ own _three_ communications devices that are out of _this_ era, _all_ of which can reach _me_ wherever I am, whenever!!"

"... they were out of charge?"

There was a familiar prickling feeling at the back of his head before a gush of wind blew him out of his chair.

" _A YEAR?!?!?!_ " the woman all but roared.

She was not all-knowing. No one was— not even an oracle, or a deity, or a Fate. Despite this, she knew a _lot_ , and not knowing something that could greatly hinder the plans she had been laying out for _ages_ was something she found utterly enraging and despicable.

"Hey, not fair!!" he whined, before recoiling at her deepening glower. "And... _technically_ it was one... and one month and nine days today—"

" **I will dye your hair.** "

"— and I'm shutting up now."

"Why wouldn't Eliza tell me this? Why wouldn't _you_ tell me this? Or Nadia?" There was a pause as her eyes narrowed even more. "Don't tell me _Yenn_ was aware of this too!"

"... actually, they..." Her gaze flattened. "Yeah..."

"Howl—"

"We didn't say anything because we knew you would react like _this_."

"I'm not reacting like anything."

"I'd bet anything anyone could hear your shriek from the States... or _Antarctica_ ," he deadpanned. "Also, you're always so dead-set on not meddling. _Despite that_ , knowing you, you would come rushing back the instant I told you—"

"Damn right, I would."

"To make sure the timeline, or whatever, goes back to how it was."

Her flattened gaze suddenly steeled with conviction. "Meddling with time is a serious matter. We've already risked too much by merely interacting with Harold—"

"I'm pretty sure it's just Harry."

"I delivered the babe, I know what his name is."

Howl blinked, staring at her for a moment before he snorted. "You've got to be joking! Are you serious? You can't be serious."

"Deadly, and I could've easily done that for you as well— do not forget how long I've been around."

"Hard to forget that, _grandm—_ "

" **I will shave your head.** "

"— and I am shutting up."

"Back to the matter at hand, though—"

"Wait, so is it actually Harold? Henry, I'm sure, no? Or is it something else? I mean, I know there was a Henry about three patriarchs before him, but—"

"That is _so_ not important right now, Howl!"

The Doctor turned her back to him and stepped around her chair, reaching up to pull the painting on the wall open, revealing a safe, which she then proceeded to open just as he interjected once more.

"If your point is going back to _her_ , then I think I should put my own point across. She's staying with the Harrisons— or, _Harrison_ , I should say. It's been a few months, but we have to get her out of there, paradox crap be damned."

He hadn't taken notice of her sudden rigidness as she froze at his words.

"The man has become entirely unhinged, Doc. I fear there are things going on in that house that neither she, nor Harry are sayi—"

"Who did you say she was with?" she cut him off, her voice barely above a whisper.

Howl blinked, startled by the question and the sudden caution in her tone. "Harrison."

"Harrison who, Howl?"

Howl frowned as he watched her with sudden attentiveness as her back remained to him, straight and stiff as a board.

"Arnold. Arnold Harrison. Why?"

The man suddenly shot to his feet when the sound of glass shattering against the floor shrieked loudly within the room. He quickly rushed over to her side, only to recoil in shock when he caught sight of her golden orbs having gone suddenly pitch black, that including the white of her eyes. In her hand was a small crystal sphere, barely larger than the palm of her hand.

Howl was suddenly filled with immeasurable dread as he began to suspect the meaning behind her reaction.

"I've gotta run."

He blinked, startled out of his stupor. "What? Hey! Wait! Where are you going?!"

"I have to go see _them_."

"Hey!!!"

He had barely enough time to catch the ball before it could touch the ground and shatter. Straightening himself out, he blinked, once again startled, but not too surprised when he found her already gone, a residual of golden-colored energy fading along the trail to the door. Baffled by her reaction, he looked down at the crystal sphere in his hand and noticed how it was oddly filled with something akin to black fog, with yesterday's date floating in it, just below the name he had mentioned.

_... I see._

Now, he could only hope she makes it in time to them.

**6:59 AM**

Harry awoke with a start, breath short with pants, that sweet voice coated with sadness echoing softly within his head.

" _..._ _I will be back for you... this promise... never break..._ "

There had been red everywhere, fresh and staining. It was so much more than he had ever seen in his entire life, and he couldn't help his disbelief; there was no way any of it could have happened, right? It had to have been a dream.

Lilah couldn't be gone.

Surely, she couldn't. She was, without a doubt, alive and healthy... thin but still healthy... and she was waiting for him at her house, ready to go to school... Right?

He quickly changed and ran out of his cupboard, not bothering to go to the kitchen.

"Where are you going, boy?" his uncle called after him, but the boy ignored him and ran straight out of the house and across the street, not once noticing the barricade tape limiting access to the side and back yards.

He rapped at the door as loud as he could and waited impatiently for Lilah to open it. When there was no response, he started banging the door and almost jumped five feet into the air as it flew open. The house was a mess. It was as if a tornado came inside... like if the house was... oh, no.

"Lilah!" he shouted, running towards the staircase.

His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he saw the fresh blood dripping down each step. He quickly ran up towards Lilah's room and felt his heart breaking even further. Her furniture was broken and covered with blood, the walls were dented and stained as well. He ran to the window but stopped when he saw a kitchen knife laying there on the ground, covered in blood.

"No, no, no, no, no!" he shouted before running back home to tell the others.

"Uncle Vernon! Uncle Vernon!" He stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, panting. "They're gone! They were attacked. The house— mess— there's blood everywhere! We've got to help find—"

" _Thirty-nine-year-old lawyer,_ _Arnold_ _Harrison, was found dead in an alley, shot multiple times. His fostered daughter, Lilah Harrison, a ten-year-old girl, had been in the same danger and scene the night of the murder._

 _Nowhere in sight, it is believed she_ _may have been abducted_ _, but we cannot be sure of her state. Policemen will be searching the neighborhood they resided in and will keep looking for the convicts. This is Genevieve Mailloux_ _..._ "

He drowned the rest of the report only having Lilah in his mind. They promised to never leave each other; to always be together; to always be best friends; to never let go.... to keep fighting. Now... she's gone. But a month before his birthday... they were going to celebrate it together...

The boy stumbled numbly out the front door, eyes glazed over and tearful as they stared blandly at the ruined house across the street, wrapped with a multitude of yellow tape. He didn't notice when he sat on the curb. Didn't notice he curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. Didn't notice the rapidly approaching footsteps, rushing his way.

He didn't react until he suddenly startled out of his thoughts as he felt the familiar warmth that came with the most comforting embrace. The embrace he had greatly missed for the longest time.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, gently pressing her lips to the crown of his head. "I am so sorry, _mae_ _parvus prasinus_..."

As comforting as those words were, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. All he wanted, at this moment, was for his best friend to be here. For _his_ doctor to never leave him. To live somewhere as far away from that cupboard under the stairs, away from those horrible people.

He didn't want his thoughts to sound so selfish, as though they were his ticket to freedom.

They weren't.

They were his family.

That's why they _had_ to find her. Lilah. There was no way anyone could walk by her and not recognize her; she was unforgettable, even as a mute. Anyone would ask her, after the first glance, who she is.

But then again... how can you get a word out of a girl who was mute by choice?

" _Don't you worry, child_. Things will be looking up," she mumbled softly as he buried his face in her chest, his tears fogging his lopsided glasses and staining her shirt. "Maybe not so soon, but eventually."

His sobs had diminished quite some by now, as the boy was suddenly overcome with exhaustion once more, as though he hadn't managed to sleep it off overnight. Relishing in the warmth of her embrace, his eyes began to flutter, sighing Her gaze lifted, eyes nearly glowing with new-found determination as she looked over the ruined house across the street.

"You think so?" he mumbled, chancing a glance up at her.

"Yeah," she uttered softly, voice laced with unquestionable certainty. "And, you know what, kid?"

Her golden eyes gazed warmly down into his bright green eyes as she gave him a small, comforting smile.

"I betcha it'll be one heck of a journey."


	11. 4½ - You Will Be Found

**November 8, 1980**

" _You might come to feel_ _like nobody is there._ "

It was the voice again. Soft, so tender and caring; but the words were beyond that. The words were comforting, reassuring; they could listen to her all day, basking under the golden-eyed angel's loving gaze.

" _You might come to feel_ _forgotten in the middle of nowhere._ "

A pair of gentle hands tenderly brushed against their delicate skin as they tucked both tiny figures in the crib they shared.

" _You might even feel_ _like you could disappear. Like you could fall... and no one would hear..._ "

Two pairs of bright green and orchid-coloured orbs stared up into the familiar fiery golden depths that always came with warmth, glee and comfort _that could easily compare to that of a mother_.

" _But_ _oh, someone will come running... and I know, they'll take you home..._ "

"' _ome?_ " a small but rather high-pitched voice echoed in an attempt to repeat the last word she sang.

The woman gazed down at the green-eyed little bundle with a smile on her face as she chuckled, amused. "Perfect!" Turning her gaze to the frowning bundle beside the little boy, she gave the baby girl a teasing grin. "Better watch out, _parvus dahliae_ , he's catching on quickly. He may even surpass you one day."

The baby girl scowled, shaking her head. "No."

The woman laughed softly at the months' old baby's retort. "No?"

"No!"

"Alright, alright, settle down, little one. Time to sleep." The girl pouted, prompting the woman to teasingly bop her on the nose. "Now, now, none of that, sweetling."

"No!" the girl whined, the baby boy echoing her protest.

The woman chuckled softly. "You two will definitely be inseparable when you grow older..." Tenderly brushing a finger against their cheeks, she began to hum, her soft voice lulling the little bundles of joy into a snooze. "A Boy Wonder and his Witchy little Hybrid."

" _And the sun will_ _come streaming in, and I guarantee you'll rise again._ "

The woman leant down into the crib and pressed a tender kiss on the little girl's forehead before shifting further in and pressing one on the boy's head as well, lingering ever so slightly above them as she gazed upon their sleeping forms, her golden eyes welling up, as many times before, with unshed tears.

" _And even when you're broken on the ground..._ "

Her voice echoed ever so slightly in the dead of night as she pulled away and quietly inched toward the entrance of the room, reflecting a certain pain that was simply unidentifiable, though there was no one besides herself to pick it out.

" _You will be found..._ "

Her lips tugged upward ever so slightly as she turned off the light and activated the nightlight that lit a starlit pattern on the ceiling.

"Until we meet again, _mea parvus angeli_..."


	12. 5 - The Witchy Soul-Shifter

**Bellefaire Orphanage; Cleveland, Ohio, US**

**March 2, 1991**

In the end, I never _did_ celebrate my first Christmas. I hadn't even gotten to celebrate a birthday apart from my first year. My second never happened, for I'd been abducted months before I'd turned two, and just last year, Merilyn Harrison passed away before we could do anything short of a celebration; the closest I had to one was a funeral, and that wasn't a celebration at all.

In the end, I lost Arnold Harrison as well. The result of it all had pushed me so far back into my shell I had all but left _him_ behind without a second glance. The only feeling I could express onward from that day had been hatred toward myself.

It seems I brought nothing but deaths and broken promises.

It seems... I am a _cursed child_ , after all.

Upon returning to Bellefaire Orphanage, I didn't do much of anything at first as I tried to settle back into my old routine, without much success. I would listen in, from my room, day after day as Miss Kathie made calls to settle the facts behind my sudden disappearance after Mr. Arnold's murder; I hadn't thought they would notice me being gone, but I digress— Mr. Arnold was, after all, well regarded, his reputation as a lawyer preceding him. It also didn't help how much of a big deal he had made over my arrival into their household... well, before everything went down. Despite everything, he was a good man, so of course it would make big news the instant something happened to him, I just hadn't expected a little mute girl like myself would be made such a big deal out of either; apparently, many thought I had been kidnapped by those that had shot us.

Tsk, like _they_ could take me. They'd merely gotten lucky that night.

I didn't even want to begin to think about what my dear friend had gone through upon hearing the news. Thinking about him was the only thing that had me feeling anything, at this point. I'd feel guilty and hatred toward myself for breaking my promise to him and leaving on a whim without so much as a goodbye. Arguably, I hadn't been in a good place when all of it had happened. Nonetheless, I could've at least put in a little effort, if not for myself, then for him.

Once I had settled as well as I could, considering the circumstances behind my return, I went back to following schedules, burying my nose deep in the appointed education mandated by the state. I could follow it through with ease after two months, but that didn't stop me from reverting to my very dull self I had been before I'd gone off with the Harrisons, my ability to care about... well, anything was utterly gone; I'd come to lack any form of motivation whatsoever, all but lazing about at any given moment, barely putting any effort in any of my actions, as far as remaining in bed all day, every day unless forced otherwise by Miss Kathie.

Eventually, there were new kids this new year-'round, but, yet again, I couldn't bring myself to care. There would be moments I would feel tinges of irritation, but I was otherwise a blank slate when it came to new meetings. Before long, however, I was pushed to introductions and was made to greet a few of the new kids— Amelia, who preferred being addressed as Ami and Isabelle who prefers Izzie. There were also a few boys— Jack and Jonah, all four around my age, or a little older, but still, I could not care.

Noah, who was still there, was the only one who could somehow understand and pity me enough to drive them away and leave me to my peace as I tried to blur out the short life I led as Lilah Harrison.

I was not a Harrison, and I was not Lilah... at least, not anymore. Truthfully, I'd stopped being Lilah the night my mother had made me run and I had been taken by the Adams. I didn't hope anymore. I... I just didn't care anymore. It didn't even bother me anymore when Jonah would come up to me and call me a number of nicknames I could barely keep up with.

Though instincts had me instantly looking over someone who was in any form of discomfort or pain and lending a hand out to them, deep down I just didn't care.

 _In the end_ , however, it seems my sole effort, which was to keep myself at arm's length from everyone, was to no avail, for I only seemed to bring more attention toward myself. Amelia, Isabelle, Jack, and Jonah, for example; that group of insufferable misfits had glued themselves to me the second they could, and it took me weeks to realize it. Needless to say, they _definitely_ brought some sort of feeling out of me.

Utter irritation. And that was _not_ something I wanted to go through with today.

No. Today, ten years ago, I lost my family. I lost my freedom. And, just last year, I lost any ounce of _hope_ I still had.

Just like any other grieving day of mine, at twelve o'clock sharp, the bell rang and it was the end of our Thursday lessons. I left the room with Amelia and Isabelle— I refuse to call them by their preferred nicknames unless they're names I'd given them— by my side, Jack and Jonah trailing behind us.

"Hey, Lilac—" My brow twitched slightly at the name. "— do you want to come play soccer with us in the back yard?" Jonah asked.

"Yeah! You can be on our team," Jack exclaimed himself, patting my shoulder, the sudden act prompting me to reflexively move out of his reach.

I deadpanned. _Nope_.

"Awe, come on. Please?" Jonah whined.

"Guys, leave her alone. Not _today_ ," Amelia said; it seems she's gaining some of Noah's perception and wisdom.

"Yeah, we'll just play soccer with her tomorrow," Isabelle added. Hey, little Izzie— _Isabelle_ is growing up too, it seems.

I nodded before turning to make my way towards my room.

My room was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wooden wardrobe, a wooden bedstead, a wooden chair, a small empty wooden cabinet, and a jacket hanger. It was bare and simple— nothing like what I'd had at the Harrisons, but it was so much better than where I was forced into at the Adams.

I didn't keep much of what I had at the Harrisons, but a few pieces of clothing, the porcelain doll, the three of the first figurines I had made— I had given the wolf to Harry a while back, as he seemed to hold some sort of fascination toward it— and an old pocket-watch Mr. Arnold had owned; an 18th century antique with a name engraved in the back, spelt in a language I knew not. The item filled the palm of my hand as a slightly rusted, silver-black bulge, with a steam train railroad pattern carved into the hollow black case.

It was a nostalgic sight, yet I kept the lot close to my chest, where the bitterness of reality prickled at me uncomfortably. It was one of the few prized possessions Mr. Arnold had owned, and he had intended to gift it to Harry on our first Christmas together, but, for obvious reasons, that never happened. Hopefully, whenever the day comes that I see him again, my first gift to him shall be this very treasure that was now dear to me.

Aside from all that, the only other thing I still kept from further before was that small, red box Alessia had given me. I realize now I still hadn't opened it, but it didn't matter. It was, perhaps, the only other precious thing I owned. The symbol of freedom, of peace from that seemingly endless outer turmoil.

As I sat down on my bed, I clutched the little box to my chest and looked down at the book Amelia had given me about a week ago. Aside from the academic textbooks we read for our daily lessons distributed by our tutors, I never actually read a book like this in my entire life. I wasn't allowed to touch anyone at the Adams, and when I was with the Harrisons, Mrs. Merilyn had taken to reading to me instead. After she passed, I dared not approach another book.

Gazing down at the book beside me, I was tempted to open it and start reading it, but I had to wait until it was a complete _'if not want then must'_ moment. So, I merely stared at it and settled down with reading the title.

 _Dying inside,_ by Robert Silverberg.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and decided to familiarize myself more with the enhanced hearing I had gained two years ago. It was hard because every time I did, my whole life flashed before my eyes, starting from the day I was born.

I opened my eyes, not wanting to fall into another steep flashback of my life that had been nothing but a painful tragedy, and sat up, glancing out the window by the headrest of my bed, slightly surprised at how dark it'd gotten.

I must've been more tired than I thought. Gradually, without much of an attempt at fighting against it, I drifted back to the loneliness that came with darkness.

 **March** **3** **, 1991**

" _Follow me home... if you dare to._ "

The words drifted like honey into my ears, so sweet and soothing as my eyes remained on the small radio at my bedside.

" _I wouldn't know... where to lead you._ "

When I'd left the Harrisons not long ago, one of the very few things I'd taken with me was the cassette I'd recorded the broadcast on, that day I had officially acquainted myself with Harry on that hill.

" _Should I take chances... when no one took chances on me?_ "

My eyes fluttered close as the soft music caressed me gently, blanketing me as I rested from the heaviness ensued by my afternoon meal. That was one filling meal...

" _So I watch from the dark, wait for my life to start with no beauty in my memory._ "

I listened to it almost every day since I'd recorded it, and took extra care of the cassette, my sweet escape.

" _All that I wanted was to be wanted..._ "

Whoever this AJ Con was, she had a voice that left me feeling nostalgic, and yet comfortable at the same time.

" _Too young to wander on the streets, alone and haunted..._ "

It was soothing, and soft, and seemed to hold a certain amount of understanding, even while she sang the relatable words that were clearly not her own, as was mentioned right before the song began.

" _Born into nothing... at least you have something. Something to cling to..._ "

I could listen to her sing all day.

" _Visions of dazzling rooms I'll never get let into..._ "

... which, sometimes I did. Especially on days that I felt a bit more alone than usual.

" _And the memories were lost long ago... but at least you have_ _—_ "

_SCRRREEEEETTT_

Instantly, I sat up, eyes wide as I stared in horror at the sight before me. I reached forward, then instantly pulled away when sparks from the combusting device flew at me, the feeling of prickling burns on my hand making me recoil.

My eyes stung as I watched flames erupt from the combustion, folding and melting the metal and plastic remains of the radio and cassette, a painful reminder of that night, ten years ago, prompting a droplet to slip from my eye, followed by another, and another.

This wasn't the first time some odd electronic blew up on me. It hadn't happened as often in my time with the Harrisons, or in the small interval I'd spent here at Bellefaire, prior to moving to Privet Drive, so I had all but forgotten about it. This odd occurrence was a bit more regular in my time with the Adams, and the punishment wasn't ever any lighter than other normal happenings around the house.

This was, however, the first time something I treasured erupted in flames, and boy, did that hurt. This was one of the few things that held a connection to a heartwarming part of my past. A connection to the Harrisons, to Harry, and to something further back I had yet to remember clearly.

And now... now it's gone.

Sighing, I waved a hand, and a breeze blew out, extinguishing the flames, before I grabbed the ruined device and stood from my bed, walking to the corner of my room where sat a small garbage bin. With one last look at the destruction in my hands, I threw it away, wiping my hands on my pants as I made my way back to my bed and laid back down, grabbing my book and holding it up, in front of my face. I stared at it for a few seconds before dropping my hand at my side, letting the item float a distance above my face— another ability I recently discovered when I stopped a hammer from falling on my face— as I resumed clutching the small jewelry box against my chest. I focused my hearing on only the orphanage at first, before enclosing it on something unusual that caught my attention.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Jones, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

This newcomer... It... he was a man, and the very sound of his voice, however soft and comforting it was meant to sound like, it sent a deep shudder down my spine, prompting me to instinctively recoil ever so slightly, my body tensing out of habit.

I wasn't one for causing open confrontation of any sort, or show any general disdain toward the male populace. I had a father, and brothers, and most of my pack had consisted of, mostly, boys and men. My... best friend was a boy, and I had even, admittedly so, gotten well along with Mr. Arnold— before the whole... Hunter's Haze thing...— and his stepfather-in-law. Even Noah and most, if not all, of the boys here I found myself able to at least tolerate. The thing is...

Axel and Christophe still plague my dreams. It was no easy feat getting over what I'd had to endure for well over half of my life. In fact, I hadn't gotten over it. Seriously, if I had, I'd probably be speaking by now, or at least making an effort to do as much.

But no, being around people from the opposite gender had me feeling... unsettled, if it wasn't around someone I could at least tolerate being around. I had quite a hard time settling in that sort of environment at St. Grogory, having been shocked into panic attacks upon merely catching sight of a male teacher. Mr. Arnold had, perhaps, been the only exception, with Mr. Banner following suite, along with Harry. Even that foolish Dudley— god _s_ , I _hate_ that kid...

I couldn't count the doctor because, although I was no expert on what existed in _my_ world, I knew for certain that man was no human at all. Clearly, though, it was a well-kept secret, just as it should be. If I had to take a wild guess, I'd consider him to, maybe, be one of those blood-sucking demons of the night; a bloodsucker— I mean, vampire. With his pale, cold skin, and a nearly dead wisp of an aura surrounding him, I'd almost believe he were just that, though I couldn't be too sure.

I have no idea if vampires exist or not.

But he never seems too bothered by my body temperature that could easily fry an egg, nor does he seem all too bothered by water or sun— I think I even saw him _sparkle_ once, when an odd ray of sun peeked in through my covered window. Probably just a trick of the light, but, I mean, pardon my _French_ , but...

What kind of shitty-ass vampire _sparkles_ in the sun?

"Oh," Miss Eliza, our receptionist, sounded bewildered. "Um... just a mo... MRS. JONES!" she bellowed quite loudly.

"If someone's here for me, bring them in!" Miss Kathie shouted back, from her office, I assume.

"Come in, her office is this way," Miss Eliza told the man.

It was silent for a moment as I heard their footsteps resonating throughout the hall leading to Miss Kathie's office.

"... no, I'm sorry, but she cannot be taken in at the mo— no, I know that nothing seems wrong with her but— Mrs. Turnb— please, understand that this girl has had it very rough... alright, we shall see later on," Miss Kathie said.

It was silent for a moment before she spoke again, her voice barely above a mumble.

"Um... Mrs. Turnbull, I-I'll call you back later."

There was a faint click of, what I assume, was the phone before a short silence ensued.

"Good afternoon," the man suddenly spoke again, greeting her. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

After a few moments of obviously tense silence, she said feebly, "Ah... erm, yes. Well— well then— you'd better take a seat— Eliza, please close the door."

With that, the door of Miss Kathie's office was closed, but that made no difference to me— I can still hear them as clear as a crystal. I slid off the left side of the bed, pulling my knees to my chest as I curled up along the wall in the shadowy corner between it and the tall, hard mattress, my little box pressing against my chest. Inclining my head and resting it upon the edge of the bed, my gaze remained fixed on the floating book as I listened closely to the conversation. I can't really call it eavesdropping if I'm not making an effort to sneak around to hear them.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Miss Hawkins and arrangements for her future," said the man.

I perked slightly at the mention of my family name, perturbed as to why some stranger would even know it.

"Are you family?" Miss Kathie retorted bluntly. "I don't see how else you would know about her."

"I am a teacher."

I blinked. A teacher? I don't recall ever having a teacher named Dumb... something. Then again, I don't recall any of my teachers' names— too much effort to memorize...

Miss Kathie snorted. "A teacher, okay. Then why the heck are you here?"

Exactly.

"I have come to offer her a place at my school."

Erm... what?

"What school is this, then?"

Yes, what is this school I am suddenly hearing about?

"It is called Hogwarts."

Hog-what? What kind of name is that? Is it a school that hogs warts or something, or were they just out of ideas when the founder was looking for names? And why does that name ring a bell anyway?

"And how come you're interested in her _now_?"

Exactly my thoughts... well, sort of...

"We believe she has qualities we are looking for."

"You mean she's won a scholarship?" Miss Kathie asked dubiously. "How is that possible, she's never been entered for one."

"Well, her name has been down for our school since birth—"

"Who registered her? Her parents? Again, how is that possible? Her parents died about a decade ago, and she was lost in the woods for nearly the same amount of time! She only went to a public school recently for less than a year, but even then it wasn't under her birth name. How can you possibly know it's her? Are you sure she's the one you've come for?"

"Here," said the man. "I think this will make everything clear."

I frowned, wanting to know more of what was going on. My book flew up and hit the ceiling before falling back down. It was about to hit me flat on the face, but I instantly refocused on it, making it float two feet above my face again, grimacing slightly as I began to feel a pinch of an ache from craning my neck.

"That seems perfectly in order." Her reply was distant and cold. There was a pause. "Er— may I offer you a glass of gin?" she said in an extra-refined voice. Gin? What on earth is that?

"Thank you very much."

Pouring both of them whatever the heck _gin_ is, a gulp resounded loudly before this Dumbo-guy spoke anew.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything about Miss Hawkins' history?"

She sighed loudly. "I wish I knew, but ever since she came here, she never spoke a word about it— in fact, she's never, ever spoke a single word for as long as I've known her."

"Is she mute?" he asked.

I groaned— just because I don't speak doesn't mean I'm mute... okay, maybe it does, but, well— _can you blame me_?!

"Yes. Whatever happened to her after her parents died must've been really rough for a young girl like her to handle, not to mention what happened last year," she added in an afterthought, her voice barely above a whisper upon uttering that last part of her sentence.

"May I inquire about what happened?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," came Miss Kathie's immediate response. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I'm warning now, _you_ 're gonna have a hard time with her. I can handle her because both of us have come to an understanding since we've met; since then, I've managed to move past the confusion or panic she used to feel constantly, and have accommodated. I can give her answers to the wonders she seeks to understand, and though there is a limit to my knowledge, it's enough that she's let me in this far. Aside from that, however, there's nothing more she would show."

"I'm afraid I do not quite follow."

Miss Kathie sighed. "She doesn't smile, doesn't laugh, doesn't speak... perhaps even the most mature kid in this orphanage, even if more lethargic than anything. It's surprising how, even if she barely shows emotions or doesn't talk, she manages to change everyone. She's a good kid."

"Has she told you how her parents died?"

"She hasn't _told_ anyone anything. When she got here, she saw the little whiteboard and the black marker I always kept in the corner of my office and wrote it down along with her name. It's the _only_ thing she uses to communicate with _everyone_ ," Miss Kathie replied.

As a moment of silence settled between Miss Kathie and Dumble... dude, I took notice of how she did not mention my... _inhuman_ abilities to him. This brought me a tinge of gratitude and respect toward her in the form of a speckle of warmth glowing fuzzily in the pit of my stomach; _thanks, Miss K._

"She's a good kid. Bit of a loner... bit lazy..."

Tch, I am not lazy... I'm just resting up for my thirties... Apparently, that's when all the big stuff happens... pft, like I haven't already been through that...

"But she's good, nonetheless," she uttered softly after a moment.

"Yes," said the man. "I thought she might be."

"I always wonder what she was like when she was a baby. She's a really strong girl. She hardly ever cries— actually she's never cried, you know. Hasn't shed one single tear in the time that I've known her."

Tears... cried... what the heck does that mean?

"And now that she's getting a little older, she's... becoming... odd."

I frowned, my lower lip jutting ever so slightly as I was unsure whether I should be offended by that or not.

"Odd in what way?" the man asked gently.

"Well, she—"

But Miss Kathie pulled up short and then sighed.

"Case in point, if she's got a place at your school as you say... whether she agrees to go, however, that is entirely up to her; I will not force her to do something she is not comfortable with," she uttered sternly. There was another pause. "But... you say she's definitely got a place at your school, right?"

"Definitely."

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing."

"You'll try to take her away, no matter what?" Her voice cracked.

"No matter what," the man repeated gravely.

She stayed silent for a few more seconds before she sighed and said in a sudden rush, "B-but she cares so much about the other children. She acts almost as if she was their mother, even towards those who are older than her."

"You really care for her, don't you?" Dumbo asked softly.

"I _love_ her," Miss Kathie whispered. "As if she were my own."

I felt that previous warmth spread up from the pit of my stomach, up my neck and across my face as I stared blankly at the book floating above me. I blinked, startled as I suddenly heard her sniffling, her voice thickening for some reason.

"And... I-I just know everyone is going to miss her just as much..."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping her permanently?" said Dumble-man.

"She'll be coming back?"

The man sighed. "That will be her decision. Her parents had a house near the school that is now under her name."

"... oh," was all Miss Kathie replied.

"As far as I'm concerned, she should, however, remain with what little family she has left in London."

There was a painstakingly long pause before Miss Kathie spoke once more, voicing my own surprise. "... in London?"

"Yes; up until last year, her survival has been brought to their attention through the paper. Quite a surprise, it was, if I do say so myself. They'd gone to find her, but by the time they made it there, there was no sign of her anywhere, and with the rumours of her kidnapping and possible death..."

"... family... in _London_... what?"

Yeah, _what_? London... where is that again? Oh, _right_ , never mind.

"It is a difficult thing to digest, I'm sure, but for her safety, it would be best for her to remain with them. However, shall she choose to return— at the very least, through the summer— I assure you, she will not be exempt from such request."

Miss Kathie squeaked. "Sorry," she said quickly as D-man chuckled; gods, I should really learn his name...

She then sighed. "I suppose you'd like to see her?"

No.

"Very much."

 _No_.

Still, I heard them leave the office and make their way up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as they passed by.

"Here we are," said Miss Kathie, as they stood on the other side of my door.

She knocked three times before calling out to me, "Lilah? You have a visitor."

My body had immediately tensed as I stilled in my corner, momentarily uncertain of how to react to this new presence coming to see... well, me. I _have_ been given time to heal. However, it, still, had been just a _few_ years ago that I had finally managed to escape the produce of my nightmares.

I had been wary of Mr. Turnbull when I'd met him, but he'd been the first genuine spark of kindness I'd been shown since I was a year old, even if it had been tinged with pity.

Dr. Cullen I'd endured because, well, he's a doctor. That and because I found some ounce of comfort in knowing Miss Kathie was always present to make sure everything was all right. Also, he responded in kind to my constant hesitation in his presence, behaving tentatively and patiently whenever he would sense any reluctance or discomfort from my part, all of which made it easier for me to overlook the possibilities of _what_ the man might be.

Mr. Arnold... there was something... _supernatural_ about him that had lured me toward him and his mate. To this day, nearly a year after I'd last seen him, I have yet to figure out what it is. For one, I don't have the resources to conduct any sort of investigation without luring suspicion my way. For two... well, I don't particularly understand the concept of an investigation.

I really need to get myself a dictionary...

Harry was a light in my darkness. The angel to my demons. The head to my tails. The milk to my chocolate— _gods_ , I would _kill_ for a Mars bar in my tree-house... I never knew whether he knew in depth or, at least, suspected what happened behind closed doors after Mrs. Merilyn's death, but he always knew how to alleviate the pain, if only a little.

If there is anyone I could possibly miss or truly care about beyond toleration, it would be him. Everyone else are just a bunch of extras.

"Lilah?"

 _THUD_.

Damn it, I forgot they were there.

I sighed softly through my nose, rubbing the spot on my forehead where the book had dropped on me before falling between my legs and chest, tilting awkwardly against my arm, above my box. With another moment's hesitation, I stared at it for two seconds before it began to float once more, directing it slowly to the other side of my bed. Pushing myself up to lay back on my bed, I curled into myself ever so slightly, barely reacting when the book landed with a soft 'thump' on the wooden cabinet. I snatched the coin I'd left on my bed, flicking it over, lips pursed as I hesitated a moment longer. Finally, I relented; if I don't start trying to move on now, then I never will.

" _Let him in_."

Muscles tense with anxious anticipation, I tightened the grip on my box and coin, my eyes barely able to catch a glimpse of anything through my mop of hair as I trained my gaze along the tips of my curls, as the man entered my room and then Miss Kathie closed the door right behind him, leaving it only slightly ajar.

"How do you do, Miss Hawkins?" He greeted me with a smile I could barely see through my dark, tangled locks as he walked over and held out... his hand?

For a moment, I remained curled in on myself, stock still in my confusion. Then, slowly pushing myself upright on the hard mattress, I found myself only able to stare at his hand, unsure of what he expected me to do with it. Did he want to hold hands or something? I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea of doing that with a total stranger...

I blinked, brows furrowed as I dropped my gaze momentarily before peeking up at him questioningly.

For a flicker of a second, there was an odd look in his eyes as he took me in before he smiled again. How unnerving.

"You grab my hand with your right one and you shake it," he said softly. "It's a formal manner of greeting."

What an odd form of greeting; why not just wave and nod? I mean... that's what the kids over in St. Grogory's did, as well as most here. Not even the Harrisons had taught me that, nor anyone here at Bellefaire; in their defence, I have made effort to avoid physical contact of any sort, the only exception being Harry. Even then, we spoke— well, he did, I just nodded...— our greeting; I've never seen this handshake this man speaks of, which, by the way, doesn't sound all sanitary.

You never know where people's hands have been before that "formal greeting."

Even then, after another moment's hesitation, I released my coin and carefully placed it atop my box, between my crossed legs, as such so neither would fall, before reaching forward and taking his outstretched hand, shaking hands with someone for the first time in my life. The man drew up the hard wooden chair in front of me so that the pair of us looked somewhat like a hospital patient and visitor. The thought brought me quite a bit of discomfort, but I pushed it aside and went along with the moment because, as much as I didn't care, I was curious as to why he was here _now_ if I had been enrolled in this school he'd mentioned to Miss Kathie since birth.

I was _very_ curious as to how in the world he could've found me anyway; didn't he say this school was in another continent?

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

There we go. I tilted my head to the side and gave him a look that clearly stated the question I'd ask if I talked: ' _why are you here?_ '

"I work at a school named Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school— your new school, if you would like to come."

" _Hmm_... _Hog_ _..._ _? Why does it sound_ _..._ _familiar?_ "

I sent the question into his mind and his bright blue eyes showed a small twinkle in them as his face lit up. For a moment, I was struck with a tinge of panic; did he see past my psionically induced illusion and find that I was communicating through my mind? I dropped my gaze down at my hands and frowned as I felt my heart racing alongside my rising panic.

" ** _Your grandmother and your parents might have mentioned it a few times_** ," a voice echoed through my head.

My eyes widened, startled as I looked up at him only to find him smiling at me.

"Hogwarts," Dumble... man started. "Is a school for people with special abilities— it is a school of magic."

My eyes widened and I suddenly uttered a gasp, startling myself out of my surprise at the revelation. " _Magic_?"

"That's right," said Dumble-man, smiling at me.

" _Magic..._ " My gaze dropped down to my hands in wonder. " _... is that what I can do?_ "

"And what is it that you can do?"

A sudden flush of... _elation_ rose within me, warming its way up my chest and my neck, up to my cheeks, at the thought of meeting someone else who could possibly do what I can.

" _I can do a lot_ _of things, like right now; I am speaking to you through my mind_ _..._ "

My arms trembling, I pushed myself forward, closer to the old man, staring down at my small red-wine jewelry box with the coin nestled right in its center, my head bowed as though in prayer.

" _I knew I was different_ ," I thought as I played with the lid of the jewelry box. " _I knew I was..._ " 'Cursed' was the word I almost uttered but went unsaid as a small frown curled onto my lips. " _Always, I knew there was something other than me being_ —"

"A soul-shifter?"

I blinked, startled upon hearing the word being uttered by someone who should know nothing of my kind, never mind him being a person of magic. " _You_ _... you_ _know?_ "

He nodded. "Well, you were quite right; there is something else," he said, watching me intently. "You are a witch."

I blinked, then tilted my head to one side, furrowing my brows as I gazed at the man wonderingly. "... _if I am a witch, does that make you a_ _... warlock? Or would it be_ _wizard?_ "

He smiled. "A wizard, indeed."

I leant forward ever so slightly, my gut filling with anticipation. " _Can you tell me more about this... Hog of_ _W_ _arts?_ "

The man chuckled, seemingly amused, but nonetheless beamed at me before breaking into his explanation; "At _Hogwarts_ , we teach you not only how to use magic, but how to control it."

He explained how I was not first in discovering my magic on my own, nor accidentally coming about it. He then mentioned how, if people were to abuse the use of it, however, the Ministry of Magic— the justice force of this hidden community— will punish all and any who did not abide by their laws.

For a moment, I thought to myself, brows furrowing with my spiking anxiety. I had no idea where this Hog of Warts was, nor did I know what to expect of a school full of young magic wielders. Magic meant power, and, laws or no laws, power was dangerous to those that did not use it responsibly.

There are always repercussions as a result to what you do. You never really know what price you're meant to pay is, but most of the time it turns out to be torture, or worse...

Death.

After all, that was clearly the very downfall of my pack.

There had been laws among the shifters in Oregon, between my kind and the wolf skin-wearers, that had been instated to prevent wars among each other, or any unprecedented attack upon one another. I know I was only a child at the time, _much_ younger than I am now, but I am fully aware of the procedures that were to be taken if a disagreement were to arise.

I'm young, yes, but I'm not stupid. How could I possibly know if this is the right path to follow? How do I know I won't end up in an even worse situation than what I'd found myself stuck in for seven years? How do I know I can find answers in this place that was apart of a shady-apparent secret society.

How do I know I won't end up dead?

Frankly, I was nowhere near comfortable with the idea of leaving this haven once more. At least not until I was old and, well, stable enough to live on my own. But finding out I'm also a witch— what if it turns out I really _am_ cursed? I would not want it to affect anyone here. At least, if I get to remain somewhere on my own, there's less a chance for me to unintentionally curse someone else.

" _If_ _..._ _if I go, where will I stay?_ "

"Well, Hogwarts of course, is in Europe."

... I don't know my geography...

"Your parents, both of whom have attended the school back in their youth, owned a house there which is now under your name—"

Okay... albeit extremely far from here, you have my attention, Big D.

"— however you will be staying with some relatives until you are of age—"

Hold my board— what?

"There is no need to worry; the Harrisons are very kind and trustworthy people."

Again— _what_? Okay, first of all, there ain't no other relative. I know that, as magic folk, we're all related in some way or another— seriously, I get the same reasoning from... _regular_ mortals about the whole "oh, we're all homo-freakin'-sapiens, all descended from the same monkeys, and henceforth all related" — but hold the frick-fracking dragon balls; there is no other family from either side that could possibly still be alive. All of my father's family lived with us at the villa, and my mother didn't have any other family apart from my grandparents whom I hadn't seen since before my pack's defeat, and @#$%!&@#$%#.

I blinked. _What... what_ _just happened?_ Shaking my head, I tried to trace back my train of thought but was merely pushed forward in my thought process, skipping out entirely what I'm almost certain I missed.

Father's side lived with us— all gone; mother's side gone much earlier... huh. Okay... aside from them, it seems, there was absolutely no one else... right?

And second of all, I ain't staying with no "Harrison" again. As much as I cared for the Harrisons that had taken me in a while back, my experience had ended on too bad a note for me to want to go live under people that would only be a constant reminder of _four_ precious people I'd lost, who shared that surname, albeit withholding no pertinent relation between them but the coincidental name (... right?).

Besides, the whole point of me leaving the Adams in the first place was to have the freedom of choice, a right that had been taken from me when they'd kidnapped me.

For the longest time, I'd spent my life thinking there was just no such thing. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be human, which was one of the main reasons I had such a hard time with my emotions. I had lived in constant fear, pain and paranoia, I didn't know how else to react.

But now I was free, and not even the opportunity to explore my newly identified abilities or my ancestry could hinder that in any way. This is _my_ life, and seeing as I didn't exactly have anyone else, I am free to do as I want. I would not allow someone else to dictate my decisions for me.

" _If I am to accept,_ " I told him, " _I would rather submit now that I would be much more comfortable if I could stay at this place that is under my name._ "

The man before me stared at me as though I had just communicated with him in another language, which, frankly, would be impossible as I only know English. I could only imagine what would've happened if it turned out he only spoke French.

Brows furrowing ever so slightly, he spoke again after quite a long moment of silence. "Miss Hawkins, I'm afraid I must insist—"

" _Sir, if I may,_ " I interrupted him. " _I am afraid_ I _would have to insist on this matter. If your suggestion is based on a matter of my safety, I..._ appreciate _the sentiment, but I must argue that I would be much safer on my own. I know to take care of myself. Also, this way, no one else's safety is threatened._ "

I could tell he was adamant I not stay alone, but even he could see the determined resolve in my eyes; even if he or anyone _forced_ to stay with someone, I would leave before anyone would notice. The late Harrisons had been the only exception because I felt I _had to_ go with them, and time showed me why. But these other people, I felt I shouldn't be with them. There was this nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me that, shall I meet them one day, it shan't be at this date.

I was not about to ignore it.

Relenting to my sole demand, much to my relief, the old man nodded in concession before proceeding with his former elaborations from before I'd interrupted him.

"Your name has been down for Hogwarts ever since your birth... exactly eleven years to the date, if I am correct?"

I nodded. " _I will be turning twelve in December_."

He smiled. "Would you like to attend Hogwarts, Delilah?"

For a moment, I was struck upon being called by my full first name after ten years of being addressed otherwise. Over the past two years, I'd been stuck in the indecisive dilemma of who I was. I wasn't just some nameless slave anymore, and the name Lilah never seemed to fit me well aside from when _he_ would call me it, but I'd had such a hard time figuring that out.

Who was I?

Delilah was my name, and for the first time in forever, that was who I wanted to be.

 _Delilah_...

I hesitated, throwing one indecisive glance around my room. If I were to be honest, there wasn't much more for me to think through; he already had me when he mentioned I had a house under _my name_ I would get to live in on my own. Well, he didn't say that last part aloud... but no one's allowed to refuse my logic or technicalities.

I have lost so much, from my freedom... to my voice... to my ability to feel properly. If there was a chance for me to prevent that from happening ever again, and if it meant remaining on my own till I got there, then so be it. At least then, I won't be a burden to anyone. At least then, I'll be free to discover all I must discover on my type of being. At least then, I'll be away from Dr. Harper's prying eyes and futile attempts to get me to speak. That annoying psychiatrist... Honestly, though Dr. Cullen creeped me out in his own right, I'd prefer that fellow to Dr. Harper any day... or Dr. Gerandy— that man was the creep of all creeps...

I looked up at the old man and gave him my answer with a firm nod.

He smiled. "I will have a favour to ask of you later on, but for now, I am guessing you would like to see your home."

I nodded once more, but then held up a finger for him to wait and quickly grabbed a notebook from the wooden cabinet and grabbed the pen that lay beside it.

I ripped a page out of it, uncapped the pen and quickly scribbled down the message I wished to convey to them, before folding the letter and held my finger out once more, an obvious indication for him to wait as I made my way out of my room, to my utter surprise, crashing straight into Noah.

I blinked once, then twice, before gazing up at the seventeen-year-old with a deadpanning glare.

"I was... just passing by?"

Yes, because he could definitely convince someone with that question-sounding excuse.

You can't fool anyone, _Noel_ , especially not _me_.

He sighed. "So, I'm assuming you accepted his offer."

My glare flattened as I gazed up at him utterly unimpressed, crossing my arms over my chest. " _It_ _i_ _s rude to eavesdrop_."

"Please," he scoffed and rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers; "like you don't do that twenty percent of the time with that... freaky ability of yours."

" _Twenty?_ "

He shrugged. "Meh, the other eighty percent, you usually spend it sleeping."

Honestly, I was rather unsurprised he had figured out what I can do; he had always been the most perceptive when it came down to anything regarding me. I guess somewhere along the way he started seeing me as more than a friend; if I were being honest, I had begun seeing him as a relative of sorts as well, like a cousin... a few times removed... that was just a little _too_ annoying to be around.

"So, you're going?"

I nodded, handing him the letter I'd written, motioning down the hall that led down to Miss Kathie's room. He seemed to get the hint but remained standing in front of me for a moment longer, unmoving as he stared.

"Fine," he uttered as he took the folded letter. "It's your life anyway."

I tilted my head to the side, wordlessly agreeing with his statement. I waved at him and turned to walk back into my room but came to a halt when I suddenly felt his cold and slightly clammy hand shoot forward, gently latching on to my elbow, keeping me from going any further. I unintentionally flinched at the sudden physical contact, but my reaction went unnoticed by him. Hesitant, I threw him another glance over my shoulder, my brows furrowing slightly when I saw he had dropped his gaze to the ground.

"Just... just come back and visit sometime, Lilou."

I blinked, caught a slightly bit off guard; I was more startled by the new and sudden nickname than by the insinuation of his stay here, even after his time was up. My lips parted as uncertainty filled me whence I was startled, yet again, by the boy suddenly spinning me around and pulling me into his arms, embracing me. I didn't know how to react and ended up just standing there, ever so awkwardly, scratching the palm of my hand with my thumb as I waited for him to let go.

When he did, he pressed his lips against my forehead before pulling away, smiling softly down at me.

"Take care of yourself, Lilou."

Again, I blinked and merely stared at him a moment longer, suddenly struck in a frozen state of utter bafflement upon seeing his light, hazel eyes suddenly, though momentarily, flashing a silvery hue. Blinking, I took a step back as I squinted my own eyes, startled by the swift change, and very confused upon seeing the usual hazel colour of his eyes. Lips parting slightly through the sudden nervous feeling building in my gut upon being in his presence, I gave a quick bob of my head, nodding swiftly at his small plea.

Then, waving my farewell at him once more, I took another step back, opening the door behind me before quickly ushering back into my room, soundlessly closing the door behind me, the confusion of what I'd witnessed hammering at my brain as I glanced up to look at Dumble-man with furrowed brows, the old man merely smiling back down at me, seemingly, blissfully, unaware of what had just occurred in the hallway.

"Are you ready to go, Delilah?"

I hesitated but a moment longer as I recalled the ruined item in the garbage bin, the garbage I had thrown into that bin since I've acquired this room.

Without much of a second thought, I went over to it and pulled at the tucked-in edges of the bag in the bin and closed it around the ruined radio before pulling it out of the bin completely, taking it with me.

Then, I reached for my bags in the other corner where I kept all my clothes and personal necessities already packed away, and shoved my doll and figurines, my whiteboard and marker, my book and notebook, and my little box inside the smaller one, stuffing my little coin in the pocket of my pants. Finally, reaching under the bed, I tugged at the tight bundle rolled up like a burrito and attached the rope that kept it together to my duffel bag before going to stand beside him, stopping short when I realized I had no idea how we were going to get there if the school and my house was in Europe. I bobbed my head in, yet, another stiff nod as I gazed up at him, inquiringly, waiting.

He smiled. "Right then. Delilah, if you grasp my arm, we will shortly Apparate."

I tilted my head to the side and looked at him curiously. " _Apparate?_ "

"Apparition is a way wizards get from one place to another very quickly. Unfortunately, it is very uncomfortable, especially the first time," he said.

After only a moment's hesitation, I did as he said and closed my eyes and, with that said and done, we were off.

**Holmes Chapel; Crewe, Cheshire, UK**

I must say, Dumble...dee was really not kidding; this Apparition thing was... well, it sucked, big time. I felt sick to my stomach and dizzy but, thankfully, I wasn't so weak anymore as to just throw up my lunch. Not that there was much to show anyway, I had barely eaten when I was with the Adams and even though I tried to eat more at the orphanage and in my time with the Harrisons, my stomach just wouldn't let it all in. My portions remained small. Life as a slave had resulted in malnutrition— _obviously_. Also, I'd come to suffer from an illness called Anemia— not sure what specifics it entails, but I knew it was enough to get Miss Kathie to push me into eating more and regularly exercise to regain a healthy body, inside and out. Thankfully, although I still was a little too thin, I hadn't reached the point where I'd be considered anorexic... whatever that means.

Miss Kathie had labels for everything health-related, but I was only a child; I didn't care much for any of it. I knew she had my best interests in mind so, I daresay, I've come to trust her enough to follow whatever regimen she thought was best to have me on. Thank the gods I was able to quickly bounce out of that odd food regimen she called purees. It wasn't so bad digesting it, because I didn't have to worry I might choke on it since it was all blended, but none of it withheld that much of a pleasant taste. My physical recovery only occurred at a rather quick rate because of me being a shifter; thank the gods for _that._

When the feeling settled after an awkward attempt to catch my breath, wheezing slightly as I felt the bile building up in my mouth, I inhaled deeply, squaring my shoulders in an attempt to force down my nerves, my hand instantly letting go of the old man's to find the coin nestled safely in my pocket.

A few tense moments passed before I finally forced my eyes open and stared into the violet dark of the night. There, nestled into a small clearing in a forest, that seemed to not be so far from a town, was a tiny stone cottage, lavender gray in the light of the stars.

It belonged here so absolutely that it seemed as if it must have grown from the rock itself. There was a shrub of flowers and twining vines climbing up one wall, winding all the way up and over the thick wooden shingles. I was quick to recognize them to be an army of Honeysuckle— they were Mrs. Merilyn's favourite; she'd told me once they symbolized happiness and living a sweet life, something that had always been a dream of hers. It saddens me she could not live it to the fullest, in the end...

Dry throat tightening ever so slightly, I shook my head to myself before letting my gaze wander once more.

Early spring roses blossomed in a handkerchief-sized garden under the dark, deep-set windows. There was a little path of flat stones, amethyst in the night that led up to the quaint arched wooden door— was that mahogany? _Sniff_. Yup, definitely mahogany.

I blinked, feeling my eyes tingle ever so slightly as I gazed at it the masterpiece before me in complete awe.

"Do you like it?" he asked, gazing down at me in wonder.

I looked up at him and nodded eagerly as he chuckled.

He handed me a key and held his hand out toward the doorknob, waiting for me to do the honours. I took a deep breath before walking forward and sticking the key in the lock, turning it then letting go, not sure if I truly deserved this.

Dumbledee chuckled then opened the door, the latter of which fell back with a barely audible creak before he stepped through, into the little stone living room. The cottage room was something from a fairy tale. The floor was a crazy quilt of smooth, flat stones. The low ceiling had long exposed beams that someone with a height of six feet and seven inches would surely knock their head on; honest to gods, that would probably be me in a few years' time— us shifters grow a _lot_.

The walls were warm wood in some places, stone mosaics in others. The beehive fireplace in the corner held the remains of a slow flickering fire. It was driftwood burning there— the low flames were blue and green from the salt.

It was furnished in eclectic pieces, not one of them matching another, but harmonious just the same. One chair seemed vaguely medieval, while a low ottoman by the fire was more of this date, and the stocked bookshelf against the far window made my eyes glitter with awe and eager anticipation to catch up on all sorts of literary pieces I'd missed over the past ten years.

Somehow each piece fit together with the others like a puzzle. There were a few paintings on the walls that I recognized— some of my very favourites were of a pair I immediately recognized as my grandparents from my mother's side; I'd only seen them as a baby, but I still had a few, although faint, memories of them before I never really saw them again.

I couldn't recall what happened to them, nor if I'd ever asked my mother and been told what happened, but thinking about them now made me miss them. There were a few other portraits with my mom and a few people I did not know— there was one with a young man, slightly younger than her, who had _those_ eyes too. Those violet eyes I recall seeing my mother have at the oddest of moments before they would flash back to that orange-pink colour I'd come to know her to possess.

There were a few of her with people who looked nothing like her— a girl with vibrant red hair and bright green eyes hanging from my mothers back, both sharing the largest of smiles, with four boys behind them; a tall boy with black hair and a pair of round spectacles hanging from the bridge of his nose— he oddly reminded me so much of a certain someone. Another tall boy, slightly shorter than the first, with brown hair and a large scar running down his face, stood beside him, another right at his other side, long dark locks falling past his chin and big eyes that wouldn't leave my mother's smiling face. There was something about him that tugged at my heart for some reason. Something about all of them, but him... looking at his hair made me tug at my own dark mane of hair, and his eyes...

I blinked myself back to reality when I nearly tripped over the edge of a carpet and gave one other glance around; priceless originals, no doubt, but they all seemed to belong here.

It was a place where anyone could believe magic existed— never mind, where anyone would _know_ magic existed.

Setting my bag down by the wall leading to the doorway, I turned slightly to close the door behind me, when something suddenly caught my eye. Just above the doorknob, there was a little metallic, circular plate with a golden arrow at the top center of the thing— a stark contrast against the blackened, rusted circle. The small thing separated almost like one of those pie-charts I'd once seen in some textbook, the lines separating each... slice in equal portions split apart by dark, silver-coloured lines that were more indented than engraved, with small engravings at the bottom of each slice, spelt in a font and language I could not decipher.

My brows furrowed as I stared at it, unable to find an answer for what it could be. _How... curious_.

Shaking my head to myself, I straightened myself and turned to follow after Dumble-man, when a slight ticking sound pulled my attention back to the door. The circular plate attached right above the doorknob was spinning on its own for a moment, the ticking sound coming from the small arrow clicking as it passed each... slice.

Suddenly, I found myself jumping back, startled as the instant the little round plate stopped spinning, the arrow landing on one slice, said piece changed colours, to a moss green colour, the engraving phasing out of its silver hue to a bright, golden one. I blinked, my eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the engraving at the bottom of the brightened slice began to erase itself, letter by letter before being replaced by two words spelt in the same foreign language, it seems, the colour of the writing itself phasing into that of the arrow.

I deadpanned. _Right_ , because that makes it clearer.

I was about to turn around and head after Dumbledee, when I suddenly noticed the new words wavering, as though words sown into a curtain blown by a breeze. Eyes squinting ever so slightly, I was surprised to find the words Holmes Chapel spelt before me. I was quite certain they weren't what I saw seconds ago, but I was quick to let it go.

Dwelling on logic behind anything magic-related would only result in more confusion and splitting headaches...

With another sigh at the peak of my throat, I shook my head and shoved my hands into my pockets as I turned and walked further into the large, and admittedly homely, humble abode, settling soundlessly on a sofa near the fireplace in the living room, across from Dumbledee, who had claimed an armchair for himself.

Swallowing hard, I fiddled momentarily with a loose thread in the pocket of my sweater before pulling out both hands, half-hidden within my long sleeves, and folding them neatly unto my lap, as my gaze instinctively dropped to the flickering blue flames.

" _So_ _..._ _what more is there to know about the_ _..._ _choice I have made?_ "

"Well, firstly, you should know that we are presently in Holmes Chapel, within the county of Cheshire."

Holmes Chapel... I see. Cheshire, however... yeah, I don't know where that is; my mind tended to drift a lot whenever we'd reach the subject that was Geography when I attended school in London.

Dumbledee seemed to figure as much upon chuckling at the confused look on my face. "Cheshire is a county of England, just on the ridge of the Irish Sea."

I blinked; England? How the— _right_... " _Apparating_ "... ugh; guess it will be a while before I get absolutely comfortable or used to the idea of magic itself. I wonder if there are legal affairs to take care of before travelling this way...?

"Yes, you begin school in a few months' time, but I do believe it best to fetch your school supplies as soon as tomorrow; as such, you will be able to familiarize yourself with everything you've missed before the start of term on the first of September."

I was about to nod, but then cut myself short when I recalled something rather important that has finally come to bite me in the rear.

" _I just remembered; I do not have any money_."

"Worry not, my dear." He gave me that kind smile of his and gently patting my shoulder. "Your parents didn't leave you with nothing. They were always prepared, just in case," he assured me.

I nodded once again, a little stiff from the physical contact. " _Where exactly does one buy magic spell books_?"

"In Diagon Alley," he replied.

I've got no idea what a diagonal alley is, but I'll just roll with it.

"I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything—"

I blinked and looked up at him. " _You are coming with me?_ "

"Certainly, if you want me to."

I nodded as he smiled at my response. " _So how about that favour you wanted?_ "

He narrowed his eyes. "Eleven years ago, a woman named Lily Potter gave birth to a boy named Harry Potter, now known as _'The boy who_ _lived'_ ," he started.

Hearing the name of said boy saddened me slightly as it made me think back to my dear friend I had all but abandoned back in Privet Drive.

You know... I realize now; I never actually learned his family name. I'd assumed it was Dursley because of his relatives, but now that I think about it, he did once mention his mother was his aunt's sister, so he would definitely have a different surname from his relatives. I wonder what he's up to nowadays. Had he gotten over my sudden leave? I know, for a fact, some kids our age tend to bounce back from dark feelings rather easily. But Harry... one could argue he was perhaps as damaged as myself.

When you're that deep, it's hard to forget no matter how hard you try.

"That red-haired woman in the portrait you saw earlier?" I snapped out of my thoughts and raised a brow but waited. "That was her; her husband was the man with the glasses."

I inquired nothing, waiting for him to elaborate, for I had that gnawing feeling in my stomach that it just seemed everyone my family came to know always, _somehow_ , ended up passing into the afterlife as well; he'd mentioned them in a past tense, hence, the quick and easy deduction would be that these Potter people were no longer with us.

Were we cursed? At this point, I feel, I wouldn't be too surprised if we were. I already had a feeling I was anyway...

"Ten years ago, his parents, Lily and James Potter, and Harry were attacked by a dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort."

Ten years ago... why does it feel like that year was just full of doom? First, my entire pack perished in the jaws of filthy wolf skin-wearers, then I was taken by the Adams— said wold skin wearers. Even Harry's parents— wait, _wait_.

 _Harry_. _Harry_ Potter... could it be? No. That's impossible; his parents passed away in a car crash.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I glanced back at Dumbledee, uncertain of what exactly any of what he was telling me had to do with the favour he wanted from me. If these people were all gone, what exactly was I to do? I just found out I was a witch less than an hour ago; I seriously hope he wasn't expecting me to bring people back from the dead or something just as crazy.

He sighed. "Do you know how your grandparents died, Delilah?"

I blinked.

... _died_.

My sight instantly blurred as I processed what he just told me.

He looked at me a moment longer and blinked in turn. "My word... you had no idea."

I blinked once again and swallowed hard, shaking my head. I always had a feeling I might've been the last person to see them, but I was much younger then, so I never tried or bothered to make more sense as to why I hadn't ever seen them after that last night with them. I could barely remember it as it was; every time I tried to remember, all I could see is a blurry vision surrounded by a green light.

"Voldemort killed them," he said simply. "And you, just like Harry, survived."

_The only difference is that you didn't become a Horcrux._

I blinked. **_What_**?

"As a result of this survival, both of you became renown upon our wizarding community as the most powerful witch and wizard in the history of witchcraft and wizardry."

I merely blinked yet again.

... that's just dumb. But seriously— _what_? So, I'm famous... and powerful? _Right_. But _what the heck is a_ _"_ w _hore-cross"_ _?_

This time, he blinked, seemingly startled by my question.

"I beg your pardon?"

" _Whore-cross. What is that?_ "

"Miss Hawk—"

" _Tell me._ "

That little detail he failed to say aloud and yet I was still able to hear, somehow, in my head, seemed too grave and important to merely dismiss. When he didn't reply, I felt my eyes narrow dangerously at the old man before me; if he was going to expect me to do him any favours, he had better answer my questions honestly. I'm tired of being thrown into or caught in between things because I lacked any knowledge of how to get out of it. If I was going to walk into this new life full of magic and whatever bullsh— _excrement_ , I was not going to walk into it blindly.

Not again.

" _Mister Dum... whatever your complicated name is—_ _many people have bad days. I have had a bad_ decade _, which is nearly the entirety of the life I had lived thus far. And_ _I have been through_ so much _, and frankly, most of it has been nothing but_ shits _. I have found myself discovering many odd and frightening things, including my ability to project my thoughts into other people's minds, and today I find this is all some form of magic, and because of said magic, many people close to me have_ died _._ " My hands curled into fists as I levelled the man with an irritated glare. " _In conclusion,_ I am tired _— do not think me above probing_ your _brain._ "

The silence was eerie as it rang between us. I almost thought he would just disappear then and there, but I did not relent.

" _Now, I will repeat myself one last time— w_ _hat is a whore-cross_?" I repeated.

He stared at me for a moment longer before sighing in resignation. "A _Horcrux_ is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

I sat straighter as the object in question peeked at my curiosity. " _How does_ that _work?_ "

He hesitated for a moment but answered nonetheless. "The way it works is quite simple yet complicated. You split your soul and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged."

I was unsettled and suddenly felt aggravated at the fact that this— supposedly good— man was aware of the functionality of such... darkness. Yes, darkness is what it was; whoever would go so far as to pursue casting such a... _curse_ upon themselves were either led by their own greed or scared of Death itself, but for the latter to be the one, they would have to be greedy enough to go through with it.

It's not bravery at all, just plain glutton for permanent existence.

"But of course, existence in such a form... few would want it, in other words—"

" _Lord Voldemort_."

Of course. Of course the... Hitler of this generation would be the one to seek for such a thing... to destroy the balance of nature, disrupt the circle of life. The only permanent thing in existence is impermanence, and he broke that wheel.

Ugh, magic.

" _But_ _what does this have to do with_ _this_ _boy_ _... Har_ _old_ —"

"Harry."

" _Give me a break._ "

Ugh, first another guy with the same name as my brother, and now _another_ guy with the same name as my only friend? Gods be good, I hope I don't meet anyone else with the same name as me...

" _You_ don't _mean to say this self-proclaimed invincible wizard accidentally made one out of him_ _?_ " When he didn't answer, I felt my eyes widen in disbelief. " _How could you possibly think— or know that?_ "

"The night Voldemort attacked and left Harry alive, the only sign that lets you know you are standing in front of the "The Boy Who Lived" is the lightning bolt scar on his forehead which is quite similar to, if not a smaller replica of, the one you have on the left side of your neck."

... scar? On... on his forehead?

 _NOPE_. This is _just_ a coincidence— like with Mr. Harrison. I— _coincidence!_ It has to be.

Matter back at hand, though; Dumbledee said the scar was an indication of a whore-crosshaving been made out of the boy. What about mine? I got one from when he had supposedly attacked my grandparents— I don't remember having it before then.

" _That would make me one as well, would it not?_ "

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But it's harder to tell with you. With young Harry, any skilled witch or wizard with the affinity to sense such dark auras could tell, but because of the large magical entanglement passed down through generations of your family, your other magical essences block it out, so, in any case, we are unable to detect that part of his soul that would be in. Because of your being a shifter and a _Wiccan_ wielder.

You may be one, but the fact still stands; Voldemort was still very much alive after your grandparents passing, while he was not when he did away with the Potters. This is all, of course, but speculation and theories of mine. Nothing has been confirmed as of yet, though I do hope to find some form of closure on this matter, in the near future."

I won't lie; I stopped listening after "wielder," blinking mutely to myself as I was stuck on the word he'd called me, having no ounce of an idea of what it meant.

 _Wiccan_...

I vaguely recalled the word spoken in a few conversations between my brother Noah and my mother. He'd always been the one to be so fascinated by her family heritage. Now that I think about it, I remember she was able to do this odd form of magic too... or, at least, something similar...

My gaze dropped to my hand which I had unknowingly lifted, my eyes widening ever so slightly as I watched in awe as a sudden purple hue surrounded the thin appendage.

That's what it was.

Wiccan magic.

I remember shortly after my birth; she'd taken to calling me her little flower because my name was a derivative of the dahlia flower. I'd once wordlessly inquired as to why she called me it, and, from the palm of her hand, a purple dahlia had blossomed in all its glory.

I sighed, momentarily shutting my eyes, placing my hand back unto my lap before I looked back at Dumbledee. " _So, what do you want_ me _to do_?"

He smiled. "Harry will be attending Hogwarts with you this year since he will be turning eleven in three months' time. I want you to be his... _Curatoria,_ " he said.

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes again. " _How do you know he will accept?_ "

The old man smiled once more. "Call it a gut feeling."

Huh. _Okay._ I thought through his request for a moment, mulling over the idea of becoming an actual Curatoria. There was a reason our villa had been named after our title, never mind the lack of creativity in name-giving. I was hesitant because there was still so much for me to learn to be able to do this job on point, but, well, this was my chance to prove myself. To prove I can be a Curatoria, and perhaps an alpha too. Not by ordering around, but by looking after others and keeping them safe.

Also, well... I don't really have anything else to do.

Teeth pressing over my lower lip, my gaze wandered over to the nearest window as a little something peeking through the see-through glass stared back at me in all its bloom; a purple dahlia sat just outside the window, nestled neatly in the right corner of it, sprinkled with pretty little droplets— I had no idea when it had rained or how late it had gotten, but the sight of the delicate reminder warmed and softened my cold, stone heart and filled my listless soul with a ship-load of determination as I made my choice.

" _Fine._ "

My gaze swam back toward him.

" _I shall protect this child with my life_."

"My dear girl, you do realize you are a child too, correct?"

" _Do you?_ "

**Leadenhall Market, London, UK**

**March 3, 1991**

As the train rolled to the next station, I felt myself shaking upon feeling rather... _unsettled_ as I wondered what Hog of Warts would be like until Dumbledee spoke up.

"Do you still have your letter, Delilah?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Good," he said. "Your list of school supplies is enclosed within it."

Curiously, I unfolded the second piece of paper I hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

**First-year students will require:**

**Uniform**

Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)

One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear

One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

 **Please note that all student's clothes should carry** **name-tags** **at all times.**

**Books**

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

**Other Equipment**

1 Wand

1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal vials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an Owl or a Cat or a Toad.

**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.**

I felt my lower lip jutting out ever so slightly as I read the last sentence. I heard Dumbledee chuckle from beside me and looked up at him curiously. I narrowed my eyes and finally decided I should just let it out of my chest, my cheeks heating up slightly as I was filled with a sudden timidity I'd never felt before.

" _May I call you Grandpa D?_ "

I was in _no_ way getting attached to this man I'd only known for barely more than an afternoon, it was just a hassle calling him by his surname which was long as fu— A CRAZY GUN!!! Ugh, those Adams are rubbing off on me, and after all this time? Geez...

Also... I feel it would be much better than just calling him Extra... That's just rude to do to someone that went all the way to another continent to find me and introduce to the world I had missed my entire life.

Big D chuckled once again, inclining his head to one side. "Frankly, I would rather you didn't."

I blinked, unfazed. " _I merely asking out of politeness; I was going to call you Grandpa D anyway._ "

The way to this Diagon Alley place was really... something else, but the place itself was even better. There was everything you could ever need, but Grandpa D and I first went straight to Gringotts; apparently, I was quite wealthy from what my parents had left behind.

It seems I was also more special than I had initially thought I was; my wand was a dark golden colour, made of three different types of wood, whereas most were just made of one type of wood. The wand that had _magically_ chosen me— no joke, apparently the wand _actually_ chooses the witch or wizard and not the other way around; must suck for those who would wish to choose a pretty stick— had a dowel body carved and rounded from Acacia wood, though being very old, it was deteriorating in on itself.

In an attempt to experiment a little bit, its wandmaker, who just so happened to be selling it to me as well, had joined some Blackthorn _and_ Hawthorn wood, moulding the lot into the handle of the wand and, surprisingly, all three together had been most compatible, though he voiced suspecting it had something to do with its core, which is that of a unicorn hair. The wand was reasonably supple— whatever the heck that meant; it was explained to me, but frankly, I still don't get it— standing as twelve and three-quarter inches long.

According to Mr. Olive-blender, the wandmaker and seller, it was a very picky wand, peculiarly temperamental, rare and would not be easy to master. He said it works well in healing and cursing, but if treated wrongly the charms can backfire. He said it is a powerful wand, if in the hands of a powerful witch or wizard.

Frankly, the very thought of anything of power frightened me, but it came with what I was, where I came from and where I'd been, so I'd learned to embrace it over the years, whether it was good or bad; I'd been weak for the most part of my life— I couldn't let something as petty as that fear hinder me in anything I did anymore.

I was a soul-shifter; though my kind was one of the strongest, we _were_ extinct, therefore proof there will always be someone with more power to pull the strings. And being a part of a wizarding community was no different, I'm sure; there will always be someone who either thrives to obtain so much knowledge and use it as a weapon of defence or offence, or someone who just thirsts for such impossible omnipotence.

Upon noticing my clear hesitation with most of everything, Grandpa D then promised me, in an attempt to lift my spirits, that he would try to get me a broomstick, if possible, the new model Nimbus Two Thousand, as we next got a black cauldron and everything else I needed. Needless to say, he succeeded as I nearly found myself smiling... _nearly_.

Nearing the end of our trip, I had gone to try on some robes while Grandpa D went to another store, leaving me for a short while. As soon as I was done and went to pay for my uniform, I saw him waiting outside for me. I joined him and couldn't stop my mouth from dropping open.

He got me a beautiful white bird with a very colourful tail— a phoenix, he told me it was. It was quite the beauty and a rarity on its own, and I named it Atlas, the name of the Greek God that carries the sky on his back. Or titan... it's a godly being, so whatever.

Though my muteness and lack of emotion were of my own choice, I couldn't deny this was perhaps the most content day I've had in a while. For once, I did not have to pretend to be something I'm not... or at least not as much as I used to.

**April 19** **, 1991**

Cooking was something I'd learned at a very young age. It used to be a mandatory chore— a _job_. I had to do it right, or I would get complaints. Getting complaints at the Adams always resulted in a beating, ensued by a night or two in complete isolation. The hardest part of cooking for the Adams was that I was never allowed to taste what I cooked, so it was always hard to tell if it had come out all right or not, especially since I got beatings every other day anyway.

That was actually how my reading skills surfaced and bettered over the years; obviously, my vocabulary was rather limited and still is somewhat today, but learning and following recipes had drilled the letters and words, and the instinctive obedience into my brain. Eventually, reading was less of an issue for me, but _actually_ writing had become the hard part.

No forced praise from Miss Kathie could lead me to believe my calligraphy wasn't horrible when I began to write for the first time upon meeting Mr. Turnbull and joining my fellow inhabitants of the Bellefaire Orphanage.

The shapes made sense in my head, and my eyes could follow them easily enough after I'd gotten used to them. However, what ticked me the most was the delicate strokes of each word and the many different spellings that failed to reach my comprehension, with words sounding exactly the same but being spelt differently, like air and heir, or aisle and isle, or tail and tale— seriously, what is up with this language?! Is it like that for every other language?

I... don't think I have to motivation to learn any more... anymore...

As much as I liked broadening my safe filled with minimal knowledge— somewhat... it's so much work...— I did still find pleasure in my carpentry. I'd even found a woodshed just paces away from the backdoor of the house... or, well, one of them. There's a lot of doors in this place. I'd taken up building things again, this time in various larger sizes, which I used to customize the abode I now reside in, however only slightly; I very much liked the way it had been built and adorned and didn't want to change much of it.

It took me but a few hours to think of what I wished to build and picture it clearly in my head before spending days on the cutting, shaping, refining, sanding and polishing my creations, gradually expanding the woodshed as well; I really needed the space... I'd almost painted my crafts as well, but I'm pretty bad at drawing and painting alone— wouldn't want to destroy the only sort of craft I'm _actually_ good at... besides cooking.

The fact that I'm willing to put any effort in doing either _only_ may be the reason why, now that I think about it...

Besides those two, though, I found a new hobby, which, I must say, may just be my favourite; baking sweets. My body still couldn't handle too much of anything I ate, but I had a sweet tooth I had to satiate, one which I had developed upon living at the Harrisons— goodness, all those chocolaty delicacies...

But a few days after I had moved in, I spent the most part of my time exploring... mostly trying to find something that would help me ease into my sleep— the beds, much like the one I'd had over at the Harrisons. The one I had at Bellefaire was slightly better, as I was still very much used to sleeping on hard surfaces, for it was either the cleanable floor or the tattered, infested mattress at the Adams. However, I'd taken to sleeping in my very comfortable sleeping-bag.

I wasn't a fashion expert, but even I could recognize the thing wasn't pretty; it looked like a body-length down-insulated, puffer-patterned coat, coloured the same ugly yellow shade as Walmart's annoying smiley face.

However, I was always one for comfort... well, after I got to taste that luxury.

That bag, a gift from Mr. Arnold after our first equinox camping trip, was my cocoon, and I don't think I'll be ridding myself of it anytime soon.

I had also wasted quite some time pondering on the mystery behind the depressingly-coloured pie-chart above the doorknob of the entry door of the house; I gathered it indicated the location I was at, but why transcribe the information in a pie-chart thingy _inside_ the house? Was it for magical purposes? And what was with the rest of it that was blackened?

This house made no sense— _magic_ made no sense. Seriously, the circle of life bullshi _r_ t made more sense than any of it; you live and you die.

What's hard to get about that?

After I was settled, I put my carpentry and baking on pause and went on with my exploration, my first-found target being a recipe book in the rather enormous library found on the main floor of the house. It was one of the first doors near the sitting room, so it was rather easy to find.

The collection inside had left me... astounded.

The second thing I sought was a dictionary... there were a lot of strange words in the recipe book...

**August 31** **, 1991**

The months leading up to my journey to Hog of Warts continuously rewarded me with cauldrons of knowledge I never would've believed to even exist. At first, I neglected throwing myself into a study... mostly because I actually tried staying away from any educational book— so many words...

It took me nearly a month before I relented after Grandpa D had found me some old books my mother had left at the school with a Professor McGonegone... something, with tons of different fables revolving around my Wiccan ancestors. There were no specific names but one, which I'd known my mother had given up upon _bonding_ with my father; don't ask what _bonding_ is— even _I_ don't know... yet.

Dawn.

Apparently, it was a highly known name among the Wiccan community, though as that type of magic had faded into nearly nothing but a legend, very few knew it to this day. Those who'd heard of the Dawn lineage among the Adept wizarding community (the one Hog of Warts was a part of) were more familiar with considerably distant relatives, such as the Denholm and Darrell families, both of whom I'd never heard of... granted, I'd been living in an attic for the bigger part of my life, and when I was no longer with the wolves, I was with a big lot of non-magic folk, so there was no way I could've known any of this.

It was rather... sad to hear Wiccan magic, the first kind of magic in this world, had faded to this day. It was said that only a fair few could still wield that sort of magic, but no one knew where those practitioners were; they were just as, if not more, hidden than the Adept wizarding community. There were a few books with exercises and regimens one could follow to determine whether they were Wiccan or not, but I knew, for sure, I was as soon as I was suddenly able to get a clear mental image of my mystical core, glowing a faint gold and purple hue in the center of my being.

I tried to acquaint myself a little more with what I would be learning once I got to school, but I could barely go further than the first few chapters of Hog of Warts _: A History_ before curling back into my yellow cocoon, it was so boring. Frankly, I didn't care so much about the history of the Adepts. Thus of my Wiccan ancestry, on the other hand... I just _had_ to know.

For one, how on earth was my mother able to restrain herself from using magic at home? From what little memories I had of my past before _Hell_ , I could recall my father didn't share any magical skill other than that of a shifter, so I couldn't help but grow perturbed and utterly baffled as to how anyone would've known him; from what I'd gathered, Adept witches and wizards weren't all chummy with "non-magic" folk, and technically my father would fall into that category since he'd only had a spiritual core, and not a mystical one.

For two... well, what other explanation could I give other than WICCAN MAGIC IS AMAZING?!

My time in my self-induced isolation spent mostly catching up on current news, something I had avoided over the course of my return to the orphanage and even before I had left it the first time around, went by rather quickly. Though I'd kept mostly to myself in my humble little ho— _house_ , and rarely ever went out of my way to bother anyone, Grandpa D still came to visit me every two to three days. We would wander the scarce lands that now belonged to me, and as I showed him my new creations— my enormous woodshed, my little vegetable garden (yes, I'd taken up gardening— I was bored) and the biodome I'd built for Atlas... which was really just a small wooden house with lots of space and many windows (I'm no glass expert... or, well, animal expert).

I didn't want to keep Atlas cooped up in the house forever, and I didn't really like the idea of keeping him in a cage, knowing the feeling myself. Instead, I decided to build him a little something to roam and rest about whenever he began to feel tired with his perches scattered all over the house. I'd thought of making a zoo but, well, I only have _one_ familiar, so that wouldn't have made sense. Then I'd recalled having read about this biodome thing they have in some French city in Canada and thought it might be nice if I made one for my inhuman companion.

It was stupid; I had no idea what a biodome was, or what it consisted of.

It was a meaningful, historical establishment, so I'd managed to find a few readings about it in some really old books in the house's library with a very blurry photograph, but I did manage to get the gist of it; the thing pretty much just half a glass sphere. For obvious reasons, my biodome would not bloom as hoped for— I am a carpenter, not a glass-maker. After building the little house, I gave up on the idea of the biodome for now; I'll be learning magic— there's bound to be some... transfiguration spell that would enable me to transform the monstrosity I made into an actual biodome.

At least Atlas liked it... I think... I don't know; the bird is far too chatty for my brain to comprehend half the thoughts he sends into it.

While I shared the final produce of most of my crafts with Grandpa D, he told me more about my history and that of that Ha— _Potter_ boy (he is not _my_ Harry!!), as well as thus of Adept magic.

After my silent insistence on how it'd be best that I knew everything about everything if I were to take on the role of Potter's Curatoria, he came to entrust me with the secret of a magical item they were to hide within Hog of Warts... after I threatened to probe his brain again. Honestly, I'm surprised he took me seriously on the threat— probing into someone else's thoughts seemed like a bigger hassle than projecting my own, so the chances of me actually doing that were very slim; that one time I caught a sliver of his thoughts was literally just— what is it tech-savvy people call it?— a _glitch_.

His mind is completely fortified, I'd have to actually _try_ to get something out of him. And I'd rather not risk losing any more of my brain functionality over such trivial matters.

... doesn't mean I can't have people believe me capable of certain things... right? It's not like I'm actually lying, though, right? I'm just letting them believe things, without bothering to correct them. Besides, the more powerful people think I am, the less likely they are to come at me head-on... where am I coming up with this bullshi _r_ t?

 _Anyway,_ the item in discussion had been created by an old friend of his named Nicole Flannel... Flame... something of the sort; what its functions were, I did not know, but that was the least of my concerns.

The task at hand was much more important; if I were to lend a hand on that case as well, I was merely to make sure that nobody would find out about it, and that no one tried to steal it. It was a lot of work for an eleven-year-old girl, but not for a future alpha (... hopefully... one day...). Grandpa D thought I could be of some help, saying my keen eye for the littlest details, and my heightened sense of smell and hearing could be of some use to me in this matter.

Honestly, with or without these aspects, I didn't even think I could or would be of much help at all, especially not with my sudden listlessness that seemed to be growing by the day, along with my impatience.

Why isn't it September already?!

My bedroom; it was amazingly spacious, and though I'd spent months on end there, it was still a little hard to get used to. I'd been so used to the small space that was my room of an attic and thenward the small one at the orphanage. Not even my room at the Harrisons had been this big; now, having so much space left me bothered on what to do when I wasn't buried deep in my own study.

The large quarters had a bed that I instantly abandoned for my yellow carbuncle of a sleeping-bag; the thing was ridiculously large for my small body, coated in white drapes, with clouds of gossamer floating down from the canopy to the floor— it was all too fancy and soft for my taste. The pale wooden floor matched the other rooms in the house (there were seven more), and now I grasped that it was precisely the colour of a pristine beach. A colour that I found oddly soothing, despite my dislike for deep waters. The walls were that almost-white-blue of a brilliant sunny day, and the back wall had big glass doors that opened into a little hidden garden. Climbing roses and a small round pond, smooth as a mirror and edged with shiny stones.

A tiny, calm ocean just for me.

Ugh.

Many times throughout my last two weeks here, Grandpa D showed me how to get to the station platform so that I wouldn't get lost on my way there the day of. However, since it was well over four hours away from the house and I had _no_ intention of shifting and running there with my bag of clothes and school supplies stuffed in my mouth, I travelled to London on the night before I was meant to leave and stayed at St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel, the only one nearest to King's Cross Railway Station. I would've stayed at that place— the Leaking Cauldron? Why would they even call it that?— but it looked a little too shady for my taste.

I couldn't even sleep the night from how unsettled I was, just going over the parchment Grandpa D had given me containing the names of all the teachers that would be teaching at Hog of Warts, Professor McHanibal (... wait, I think there was a "gon" in her name somewhere...) included; the only ones I've met up till now were my future potions' instructor, Professor Sna...k— _pe_ , Snape— and a half-giant named Hag... rid. Hagrid. Though he was a ridiculously large bundle of joy, and Snape the complete opposite— literally, had I not known who my parents were, I would've based myself on the doom-and-gloom persona and thought _he_ were my father— I, admittedly, quite liked them both.

Despite having a rather chatty mystical bird for a familiar, I must admit that I did feel quite lonely during the entire time I'd spent at the cottage alone, but I was relieved, in a way, because even though I had spent little over a year at the orphanage and some time with the Harrisons, I still wasn't very used to so many people around me, so I was rather content with just having Atlas around. However, I was admittedly quite unsettled about how Hog of Warts would turn out. I mean, it was already bad enough that a lot of people knew me back at Diagon Alley, now imagine a school with over a thousand students! ... or however much there usually is...

Frankly, I didn't really retain, or even tried to, any of what I read in Hog of Warts _: A History_.

It's too much of an effort...


	13. 5½ - B— Hawkins

**December 27, 1979**

A pair of deep-set, orange-pink-coloured eyes fluttered open and gazed above in wonder.

The world above was a bit of a blur, but the newborn baby, a lovely little girl weighing just an ounce below the average weight of a newborn, and quite a bit smaller too, standing— well, laying at eighteen inches of height, which was a little over half a foot smaller than the average newborn baby. She was very much healthy, however, from what the female doctor delivering her could deduce.

Slowly, the blurry vision began to settle, and the child could suddenly see a rainbow of colours she could not name. Startled by the surge of wonders above her, she closed her eyes, for a moment, before reopening them and staring into another pair of bright, fiery depths, which she instantly deemed as a lovely, but strange colour.

"You finally got the beautiful little girl you were waiting for, Elle," said the person holding her, voice soft as a whisper.

"Is she..."

"She's perfectly fine, now; you can now rest."

Her gaze was gentle and warm, much like her delicate hold on the newborn, and the only word that came to mind upon gazing up into her golden eyes— _don't even know what that is, but I bet her eyes are the very meaning of it_ — that looked so bright and pretty with inextinguishable flames dancing within that fiery gaze of hers was "sun." It was like she was staring into a pair of suns— _whatever that is_ ; they were so warm and comforting, the babe had no want or need to look away from them.

"My beautiful baby girl," another voice whispered as she was suddenly whisked away from that gentle person's arms.

She whimpered; _put me back!_ She didn't like this new hold. She struggled slightly, but could barely move more than a few wiggles before quickly giving up, tired from the effort. Blinking back the watery feeling in her eyes, she looked above and found yet another pair of odd bright eyes belonging to a man, staring down at her, his gaze softer than his grasp. She pointed a small finger at him questioningly as he engulfed it with his large hand, bringing it up to his lips.

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm your daddy," he said, grinning.

She didn't feel any sort of bond with him, but she liked his eyes. They were pretty too and she wondered if her own were like his.

"Eben, she needs to be cleaned," spoke the person that had previously held me.

The babe turned her little head slightly, feeling her lips curl downward as she found an instant dislike for the new look on the woman's face. It was dark and hard as the person stared down the... her "daddy."

"Just a minute," he replied, his gaze still upon, slightly harder as he looked the baby over.

"Eben, she could get sick."

"She's a shifter."

"Not yet, she isn't," she replied firmly. "She's just been born. At this moment she is as fragile as any other mortal baby. She needs to be cleaned off, and so does Ella."

"Let me... give her to me," another voice suddenly came from behind them.

"Elle..."

"Please, just once... before you take her to get cleaned. I just... I _need_ to see her... just a little closer."

The babe felt a sense of relief when she found herself back in the arms of the person who had first held her. Her focus became stronger as she noticed how the light danced, shattering off the woman's hands. The rays of light were tinged with red, a redness that covered her skin and hands. Afraid as to why she was covered in this red, the babe started struggling, pulling the woman's attention back down to her, her warm gaze calming instantly her.

"It's alright, _parvus dahliae_ ," she murmured, brushing a thumb across her cheek ever so softly.

The babe's lips curled almost instantly in response as she gurgled, enjoying the affectionate touch, though the lift of her lips almost instantly disappeared thereafter when she touched her warm body to a pair of weak arms, almost like they were holding her. The new skin she felt against her was wet and hot— hotter than hers.

Her eyes focused; suddenly everything was absolutely clear. The water forming in her eyes disappeared almost instantly, but she started breathing in quick, startled pants. Her eyes were open wide since she was shocked and confused as to what was going on. For a newborn babe, she knew a lot of things, but obviously not everything. She had no idea what she looked like or whom she looked like.

That question was answered as she averted her gaze from the comforting golden eyes and stared back into, yet, another beautiful pair of eyes that shone an odd colour she had no name for. Two words jumped into my mind, and she could only then associate the colour to a mix of a pretty orange-pink. The woman whose pretty eyes those belonged to was even prettier, she could not help but stare just as she had done with the other woman.

"Delilah," she whispered, her tone sounding rather agreeing. This prompted a smile from the other woman. "So beautiful."

"Quite so; like her mother," the other woman murmured. "She'll make one heck of a _striga parvus ibrida_."

The man frowned, startled by the words spoken in another language; he hated when that woman and his wife did that— speak in some foreign language he did not understand to exclude him from their conversations.

"What's that? What'd she say?" he squawked, but neither paid him any mind, even less the dazed little babe nestled comfortably in her mother's arms, gazing at the women in awe.

_Delilah... was that me?_

"What did she say?" her father repeated but, again, he was ignored.

The babe's mother smiled down at her. "Yes, my little flower," she whispered. "You are Delilah..."

The Doctor smiled at the name. "Nice cho—"

"Keren..."

The Doctor's smile dropped, deadpanning. "Ella..." she groaned.

But the young mother continued. "Elleah-Rose B—"

"Hawkins," the man cut her off, finally snatching their attention.

Her hypnotizing eyes momentarily hardened before softening like goo upon gazing back down at her newborn daughter. The babe— Delilah noticed, at some point, as her mother looked at her lovingly, her eyes had flashed another colour— purple— for a second before going back to being orange-pink. Startled, little Delilah averted her gaze over to the other woman, but she merely curled her lips upward as she reached forward and the little flower, as they called her, was quick to grasp her finger.

"Lily," said her father. Delilah looked up at him, baffled by the different name, only to find him grinning down at her. "These are your brothers."

Noah, the eldest, looked a lot like him, just less muscular, and had purple eyes— _where did those purple eyes come from?_ Jared, the second eldest, looked like them as well, except his skin and hair were paler and he had their father's eyes. Deven, the youngest of the three, looked more like a boy version of their mother and he had the same eyes as Noah. It was... odd; none of them seemed to have their mother's eyes _._

Then, she noticed there was another boy in the room. He looked nothing like her brothers, so he couldn't possibly be one of hers, right? His bright green eyes with a tinge of blue were locked on her face, and she merely stared back, curious as she noticed his body had been shaking for a moment but then had come to a stop once he looked at her, just staring, for a moment, before he suddenly spoke but one word, a word she did not understand.

"Mate...?" he whispered, almost inquisitively.

That meant nothing to her, and that was something in on itself; she understood, already, quite a bit, for some reason. Perhaps she would learn why, someday, but today the word was neither here nor there.

If anything, it only made her more confused.

Mate? What did that mean?


	14. 6 - The Journey To The Hog Of Warts

**King's Cross Railway Station;** **Kings Cross, London, UK**

**September 1, 1991**

On the first of September, just as I reached the railway station, the terminus of one of the major rail routes between London and the North, at half-past ten, I found it would take me a little while longer to get to the barrier without freaking out. Once I finally reached it, I took a few deep breaths and closed my eyes before walking hastily towards it. I kept expecting myself to walk to it and end up crashing, but of course, none of that happened.

I just kept on walking.

When I opened my eyes, I felt my heart stutter in awe as my gaze fell upon the scarlet steam engine that was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said _Hogwarts_ Express, eleven o'clock. I looked behind me and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it, and sighed, nodding to myself proudly for having made it through.

Now if I could just make it _into_ the train in one piece...

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled manner over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats.

With a tight grip, I pushed my cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat, hopefully, an empty compartment altogether. As I slithered— heh, Slytherin...— my way through the crowd, I passed a round-faced boy who was talking in a considerably whiny tone to an elder woman who was merely looking on at him with slight exasperation.

"Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville."

I blinked, my step faltering for the slightest of seconds. _Why does that name ring a bell?_

With a shake of my head, I huffed and continued onward. Further ahead, a boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

Said boy lifted the lid of the large box he held carefully, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg; I paused momentarily, my face twisting into a grimace as I shook my head and shuddered ever so slightly before resuming my walk, yet again. I pressed on through the crowd until I stumbled against the growing mass inside the train, nearly falling to my death— not really, but who wouldn't feel like that in this mess of a place— when a hand suddenly caught me by the elbow before I could fall on my face.

"Watch your step."

I blinked and took a moment to myself before I turned to see who had caught me, instinctively jumping back at the sight of an unfamiliar boy. The boy was abnormally tall, seeming no more than one or two years older than me, using Noah as my best— and favourable— reference. His skin was dark, perhaps but a shade darker than my own, and despite the bit of a babyface that he had, you could see the wisdom in his eyes— the only thing, it seems, to have actually piqued any interest in my usually gluttonless mind.

His eyes... there was something familiar about them, and yet, there wasn't. Looking upon them, I saw a pair of light-blue sapphires, with a crown of a dark hue surrounding his pupils being a fiery mixture of orange and red flames. That wisdom I'd initially caught but a wisp of seemed to amplify up closer, almost as if he held so many impossible the secrets and wonders of a lifetime upon many.

I had never held such curiosity toward someone for as long as I can remember. Well, that being excluding Harry and the undeniable and inexplicable connection he and I had upon first meet. I almost wanted to pry, finally finding meaning to the word itself, but I got the feeling the boy was as closed off to the world as I was, choosing to keep to himself.

I don't blame him.

The world is one crazy bi— _bench_. Seriously, just the other day I had read a story about how I had supposedly slain some dragon in some country I'd never even heard of. Honestly— is Transylvania even real? I'm pretty sure it was _Penn_ sylvania...

Ugh.

I blinked, momentarily at a loss when I finally came to and noticed his lips had been moving, but I had heard nothing at all. Staring up at him, mouth agape and slightly dumbfounded, I found him staring back down at me with an equally blank expression on his face, almost deadpanning.

Hey, that's my thing...

We stared at each other a moment longer, completely ignoring the other pushing through and past us, before I felt myself suddenly relax upon witnessing the slight twitch at the corner of his lips as they lifted ever so slightly into a barely noticeable smile— if you could call it that— filled with what I could only assume was amusement; I had very little experience with it myself, so I still had a bit of a hard time pin-pointing it.

"The cabin down the hall," he uttered quietly, his voice surprisingly deep for someone so young, his words articulated with a faint accent I did not recognize.

I blinked. What?

"The cabin down the hall," he repeated. "It's empty and has less of a chance to be constantly bothered."

I blinked yet again, staring up at him a moment longer, barely acknowledging when he let go of my elbow. Another second ticked by before I finally inclined my head to one side in a mute sign of gratitude for his advice. Inclining his own head, he spun on his heels, and, without another word or even an attempt at an introduction, he quietly walked away in the opposite direction, earning my sincerest respect for respecting boundaries.

This guy knows the shit I'm about.

It was a bit of a struggle and I could feel eyes on me as I pushed down the crowded corridor of the train but, soon, I reached the suggested empty compartment near the end of the wagon. I put Atlas inside first and then shoved my trunk toward the train door, lifting it up the steps with ease and tucking it away in a corner of the compartment before uttering another sigh, satisfied.

With one last look around, I entered the compartment, grabbed all my hair and tied it to my right. I pursed my lips and frowned upon remembering I had only just left the scar on my neck exposed but I was too lazy to untie it now so I left it like that and merely rose the hood of my jumper over my head before I sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, I could watch the families on the platform and hear what they were saying.

Shaking my head, I brought my book out of my shoulder bag and opened it to where I left off; I'd begun _Dying Inside_ about a week ago and found the story, though rather peculiar, also oddly captivating.

As I reached page one hundred and sixty-five, the door of the compartment suddenly slid open and someone came in. Uninterested as to who it might've been, I didn't bother to look up and merely continued my lecture.

It was silent for a moment as the door to the compartment slid shut before the person cleared their throat.

"Um... can I sit here?"

I blinked as the oddly familiar voice stirred something in my gut. Shaking my thoughts away, I sighed through my nose and refrained from further reacting, keep myself from acknowledging much more than the fact that the other person in my presence was a boy; although I had been around a fair few in the past few years after my acquired freedom, it was still a struggle to remain in comfort in the presence of someone from the opposite gender—gods, I need to get over myself...

Taking note of his rather timid and innocent tone, I decided it was fine for him to stay and merely bobbed my head in a quick nod, my eyes flying across the words on the page I was reading through.

Said boy uttered a sigh, out of relief I think, and came to sit beside me, gently placing his owl on his other side. It'd been watching with half a brain, out the corner of my eye, as the excess of noise he made bothered my sensitive hearing; it was bad enough with everyone else outside and about.

When he finally settled, I was finally able to draw all of my attention back to my book as the long-awaited silence I'd been desperate for settled between us. Taking note from the annoying stiffness radiating from his being, I could take a guess he was probably a Muggleborn, as they're called among this wizarding community— a wizard born from non-magic folk— or a half-blood raised amongst Muggles, though I didn't care to know; I'd settle with my guess and continue with this masterpiece in my hands.

"Um... hello."

Gods be damned.

The boy's voice was small and quivering; probably excess of timidity, but I still did not bother to look up, even more so upon realizing his sole presence had distracted me far more than I'd initially thought upon reading the same page— same _paragraph_ for the fifth time since he got here.

"My name is _Harry_. Harry _Potter_."

That name was an instant eye-catcher for me; as soon as he'd uttered his it in its entirety, my head snapped up as though snapped back into reality out of a trance as I gazed upon the boy that was to be under my protection as soon as the school was to begin.

Harry Potter.

... I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Lips parting, the book fell from my hands as my eyes bore into those familiar bright green orbs. I instinctively shot to my feet but tripped over my book, crumbling to the ground, wide-eyed. I scrambled about, my hand scouting around before it met the book, latching on to it in a desperate grip, gritting my teeth at the cruelty of my mind which had decided, it seems, to play tricks on me, toying with my guilt of having left my only real friend behind.

The boy before me shot to his feet as well, eyes just as wide as my own as he stared down at me. I watched him with an unwavering gaze as I stood with wobbly knees, my back glued to the window as I slid along the wall to settle back on my seat, wishing I was back in my house, curled into the comfort of my sleeping bag.

 _No_. Don't look at his face, it's _not_ him.

Perhaps I didn't know much about this Harry Potter aside from the death of his parents and the possibility he just may be a _whore-cross_. I knew next to nothing about him, so I had not known what to expect upon meeting him. Actually, if I'm quite honest, I had not really expected anything of him.

All I knew was what had got him here.

In fact, up until little over a month ago, I had still not bothered to find out more about him, for it had yet to be confirmed whether he would be attending Hog of Warts as Grandpa D had foretold.

He hadn't told me anything about where he had remained this entire time since his parents had passed or who with, or how he was brought up— what he knew or what he didn't; I was practically in the dark about the person I was meant to protect, that I was almost instantly discouraged and quite literally gave up any inquiry on his regard, knowing then I wouldn't get any more answers I sought. It wasn't until about three weeks ago that I finally put an effort into learning and remembering who he was and where he came from... well, circumstantially. I gathered he'd joined the living somewhere in England, considering where his parents were from and the fact that both had attended Hog of Warts as well.

 _But it cannot be him_.

I admit I had been very hesitant and disdainful about learning anything about him on my own because I was struck with the idea that perhaps he just _might_ be like me. We'd both lost our families in similar circumstances, and for the same reason; there were bad guys who wanted to kill us. But he still had a family.

I had no one.

My grandparents had been murdered far before the debacle at Anima Curatoria. My pack— my _family_ perished during the ambush. Any other person I may share ancestry with were so distant we couldn't even be considered close relatives, let alone family— or they were dead too.

I truly had no one but two people I left behind, and even then they didn't count because... well, _I left them behind_.

 _This was not him_.

However, I would find myself swallowing those last thoughts.

What if, it turns out, that Potter _was_ a whore-cross? I found some books about it in my library during my stay alone at ho— the cottage in Holmes Chapel. Once created, whoever holds it in their possession falls into something akin to a curse; a whore-cross— I'm starting to think that's not the right word...— born from dark magic and evil intentions brings out the worst in people. Family would surely be no exception. And yet... looking at him, I felt nothing of the sort. In fact, I felt that familiar pull towards him that I could yet not comprehend as I gazed upon his person.

_He can't_ _..._

He was... so small, frail even. Thin, pale face, knobbly knees— a mop of black hair falling over his forehead, nearly covering his bright green eyes... those eyes...

I blinked and shook my head before forcing myself to give him a further one-over.

He wore a pair of oversized trousers, a gray shirt, and a checkered, oversized, long-sleeved button-up shirt over it and a dark gray sweatshirt I recognized all too well, hanging from his person like a blanket. Round glasses resembling oddly that of the man in that picture at ho— _the cottage_ , the thin spectacles hung, too, from the bridge of his nose, held together by a piece of Scotch tape— geez, _okay_. Sure enough, under that fringe of his lay a very thin scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt.

It took me a moment longer, upon studying him closely, to notice he was staring at _my_ scar. Almost instantly, I felt my face uncharacteristically heating up, whatever feeling behind my own reaction leaving me quite _unsettled_ ; I wasn't used to being sat at the other end of a scrutinizing gaze, never mind if it were someone I already knew.

Grip tightening on my open book, I shut my mouth and narrowed my eyes, my mind and heart stubbornly refusing to believe this could be possible. I watched warily as his own eyes widened even further as though realization had only _just_ hit him.

"... Lilah?" he uttered ever so softly.

I felt my resolve instantly crumble at the sound of his voice, so small, so fragile— in _so much pain_.

" _You_ 're Delilah Hawkins?"

I don't know why, but the instant he'd voiced my name, I began to dislike it. At that moment, I didn't want to be _Delilah Hawkins_ ; I just wanted to be Lilah again. _His_ Lilah... I had absolutely no idea why; I'd always been proud of being a Hawkins but, for some reason, in _this_ instant, being it just didn't feel right.

Nonetheless, my head jerked in the stiffest nod before I quickly dropped my gaze back down to my book as I felt my heart shatter into millions of pieces. How— _why_? I knew I was cursed, but what sort of punishment was this? Make me suffer by bringing the one person left in this world that I actually cared about into this mess? Make me suffer even further upon realizing he'd suffered, though perhaps not as much, but had so all the same?

What is this cruelty?

I felt my eyes begin to water and instantly turned away, refusing to shed the drop— the _tears_.

"Lilah..." he murmured, sadness and disbelief colouring his tone.

Unable to look at him, I pulled my hood back over my head and sunk deeper into my seat, momentarily closing my eyes tightly, in an attempt to recollect myself. Instinctively using one of the first magical skills I'd ever developed after my first phase, I telekinetically got my whiteboard and black marker out of my bag, feeling them softly landing on my lap.

When I finally reopened my eyes, I dropped my gaze to the page I'd been reading previously.

Read, Delilah, this will calm you.

In the ensuing suffocating silence, I drew my eyes back along the open book in my hands, forcefully tracing my gaze along the lines, feeling my brow twitch for a second as I felt my hair-tie snap from where I'd tightly tied it to one side, swiftly releasing my hair, the broken hair-tie slapping against my neck before falling from my person, onto the floor.

My brow twitched, my jaw clenching from the rising tension.

 _Just read_ , Delilah.

_Of course, it takes courage to walk through that new door when we do not know what may lie beyond it, but one who has faith in Our Lord who died for us—_

"Anyone sitting there?"

Seriously? Now?! ... gods be damned.

"Everywhere else is full."

I uttered a silent sigh, lifting my gaze to meet that of a redheaded boy. Harry wordlessly shook his head, then hesitantly glanced my way as though waiting to see if I would either approve or oppose. I shook my head with a slight shrug, my hair fanning out around me, before I quickly averted my gaze yet again, unable to keep looking his way.

As he settled in the seat across from us, the redheaded boy glanced at Harry and me and, then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. I cast him another sideways glance and saw that he had a black mark— dirt— on his nose and rolled my eyes before returning my gaze once more to the line I was reading. Where was I? Ah, yes...

 _... Our Lord who died for us, who trusts fully in Him who came for the salvation of man, need have no fears. Our lives are pilgrimages_ — whatever the heck that means— _toward Him._ I should _really_ carry a dictionary around with me... _We may die small deaths every day, but we—_

"Hey, Ron!"

Oh, come on!

A pair of redheaded twins were standing by the door of _my_ compartment.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train— Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled the clown... I mean the redheaded kid.

You know, looking a little closer, I'd say their hair was more orange than red... like carrots... or oranges... I should really stop nicknaming people... Nah, it's too entertaining. Seriously, it's probably the only thing I will ever find entertaining.

Gods, I'm gonna need to find another hobby once we get to school...

"Harry, did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

... what?

The twins came and went like a quick breeze, sliding the compartment door shut behind them. I was faintly surprised they hadn't noticed me, but more so relieved than anything; they seemed far too energetic for my taste. Also, who would notice a mute girl anyway? It's not like I make enough noise to warrant any attention.

"Are you _really_ Harry Potter?" the younger carrot-top blurted out as soon as they were gone.

Of _course_.

With another roll of my eyes, I returned my attention to my book but could read no further upon feeling both pairs of eyes on me. _Please stop looking at me..._ I tensed momentarily, before merely using my telekinesis to move my marker against my board, writing down my name. I then lifted it and showed it to them.

"Wicked," Carrot-Top whispered.

I was mildly stumped at the fact that the redheaded wizard did not seem to grasp the fact that I had used magic without even waving a wand, but then I got distracted by how bad my calligraphy is when I use my telekinesis to write; I should really practice that if I don't want to bother myself with writing stuff by hand all the time till they go numb.

... I'm starting to think my listlessness is just plain laziness. Then again, with my new job, there's not really much to be excited about, except, maybe, the fact that I get to learn magic. But there are just so many books!

Ugh.

I sighed softly under my breath, closing my book as my board landed back on my lap and my marker recapped itself before landing on top of it; I couldn't concentrate on my reading anymore, so I put my book back into my bag and settled with crossing my arms over my chest and gazing out the window, my teeth gnawing at my lower lip as my brows furrowed.

Did I just see some kind of flash out the window, or was that all just in my head?

**Harry's P.O.V.**

It was just a few days ago that I spoke with her last— _my_ Doctor. Like every other time, she was warm and caring, sweet and loving— everything I could imagine in a mother. And then, when I told her I would be gone for quite some time, she said she would be too.

Was I to be alone for good, from now on?

"It's not forever, of course," she had assured me. "The company is expanding, and I have many travels to do for any further success. Tell you what, though; as soon as you arrive at this school, write me a letter, or send me an email..." She had deadpanned much like Lilah always did as her gaze zeroed in on my owl, Hedwig. "... if they have access to that there. We'll keep in touch this way until we can see each other again. I may not be available during the winter break; I will try, but next summer it will be just you and me."

 _That long?_ "Promise?"

She gave me a small smile. "I promise I'll try. Howl will be there, though, in case you need anything and I am not able to respond. And Yenn should be back in a couple of days, so you'll have both of them here for anything."

How long would she be gone, neither of us knew. Mr. Howl was going to stay behind, keeping an eye on her estate back here, but Miss Nadia would be leaving with her. There was some comfort that came with knowing that at least Mr. Howl would remain, and I knew Miss Yenn was set to return but, frankly, I wished she would stay instead. She was the closest thing I had to a real family— the closest thing I had to a mother.

And I had already lost Lilah— I did not want to lose her too.

"Don't worry, my sweet boy."

Her tone was like honey poured into a warm mug of tea, and I felt that warmth spread within me as she caressed my cheek, like she had done many times before.

"You will see _her_ again _soon_."

There was that knowing twinkle in her eyes as she gazed softly down at me. I had no idea what she had meant by that when she'd told me this the day before yesterday, but now I was starting to think she was some kind of psychic as I found myself sat there, mouth agape, being anything but subtle with the way I was blatantly staring at her. I couldn't help myself, though— it just seemed too good to be true... but it was true. This was real. She was here!

Lilah...or rather _De_ lilah... my best friend...

There were so many questions I wished to ask, beginning with how she was able to speak into people's minds. She'd done so since I'd met her, and, though I could tell she'd known I'd noticed how she never once opened her mouth when she "spoke", she never mentioned it, before or after that one time I'd asked and completely dismissed the entire ordeal. Then again, considering we're both here now, it probably was just her using magic this entire time without realizing it.

After all, speaking into people's minds was not exactly normal... nor was suddenly teleporting to the roof of your school.

She had so many secrets, dating back to before she'd been fostered by the Harrisons, but, yet again, I never asked. She always seemed to be trying so hard to adjust to their lifestyle, however different it might've been from her previous one. And then Mrs. Merilyn had passed away, and though I feel she could've left whenever she wished, she chose to remain, even after Mr. Harrison had all but lost his mind; she'd been adamant he was simply lost and grieving, even if his manner of coping was blaming her for whatever reason and hurting her. She'd remained so he wouldn't be alone.

She remained so _I_ wouldn't be alone.

In the end, however, she still left, and without a trace. I'd spent months believing I'd lost her— nearly an entire year thinking I would never _ever_ see her again... at least until Death chose to take me as well. I'd almost lost all hope; I didn't want to remain in a world where the people I cared deeply about were no longer a part of; my parents... _Lilah_...

It almost seemed worthless and unfair to keep breathing the same air that was taken from them... from _her_.

But I wasn't alone... at least not completely. I had _my_ Doctor... Miss Nadia, Miss Yennie, and the ever so peculiar Mr. Howl, and even Mr. Markl.

And _now_...

I dreamt of Lilah most of every night. I'd dream about those days we would spend in the little tree-house she'd built and just lay under the open patch on the ceiling, gazing up at the stars in wonder. The beauty of the stars, she'd once told me, brought her hope, making her believe it was possible that there were places in the world where things were just fine, where the possibilities for happiness were real and endless. But me?

Just gazing into her strange eyes brought me hope.

When things had gone dark at home, and my Doctor couldn't be there for me, _she_ had brought me light. I'd never thought I could ever use my name until I'd met her. In fact, I had almost forgotten what it was as, up to that point, I was only ever constantly referred to as "boy"... but not by Lilah. Like _her_ , she always made sure to utter my name whenever we were together, as though she knew.

Looking back now, and looking at where we are today, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if she did.

But the look on her face when I'd told her my full name just moments ago... I realize now I'd never actually told her it back when we were in Privet Drive, but I guess part of me had done so purposefully. At home, I was just the "worthless Potter", the "boy" who occupied space so unnecessarily that I had to live in a cupboard.

But with her, I could just be Harry; my only worry, at the end of the day, was having to leave her to go back to my aunt and uncle.

Lilah always seemed so oblivious about nearly everything, but her curiosity had just been so refreshing that I'd never bothered to question her for it, and just lent the hand she would always lend me, should problems, elsewhere, arise. Where she helped me survive the school day, I helped her understand what was taught; I wasn't the smartest kid in the class, but I knew enough that I could help her, should she need it. She never asked for anything and always contented herself with having someone beside her. At times, Mrs. Merilyn, at others Mr. Harrison, there was also that Miss Kathie she was clearly fond of... and then there was me.

I'd almost thought it impossible for anyone to care for me until we met, and I was just about ready to run away with her, never mind that we were barely just ten (well, it was two months before my birthday but... whatever— it'd been my tenth year alive, so ten!) when I'd brought it up.

" _I_ would _run with you, though. If we could,_ " she had said to me that afternoon.

But then, why did she leave without me?

 _There_ _were_ _so many questions I wished to ask_... but then that Ron boy spoke up and reality crumbled its way back in, forcefully tearing my eyes from my first friend ever.

"I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got— you know..."

I glanced over at him as he pointed at my forehead. Fighting back a roll of my eyes, I pulled back my bangs to show the lightning scar. Though admittedly, I always liked the scar a little bit, the more time I spent among this... _magical_ community, the more I began to hate it, especially knowing the reason behind me having it.

Ron stared. "So that's where You-Know-Who..."

"Yes," I replied with a shrug, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well— I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

For a moment, I felt Li— _Delilah_ 's eyes on me, though when I glanced her way, I found her writing onto her whiteboard. I snuck a quick glance and felt myself frown when I read the little note she'd written in the corner of her board, thoroughly underlining it.

_ A green light??? _

I wished to question her behind her marking this down, but I had to remind myself there was someone else in here besides the two of us. It took me a moment, but then I suddenly recalled Hagrid mentioning she, too, had lost her grandparents to this self-proclaimed Dark Lord and wondered perhaps if this was something she remembered as well. After all, it seems, she had been there that night as well, though she had been an infant, much like myself.

"Wow," said Ron.

I shuffled slightly in my seat, a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, though after a few more moments, he finally averted his eyes toward the window, his face reddening to the roots of his hair.

I glanced over at Li— _Delilah_ for a moment, then, after making up my mind, I reached out and grabbed her board, startling her out of her thoughts, it seems. Her head snapped my way and momentarily gazed at me, a confused look flashing through her eyes before she, once again, quickly averted them, gazing back out the window.

"D-Delilah?" Ron asked hesitantly. She glanced back at him and raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Have you also got— you know..."

He pointed at her neck. She emitted a small, slightly wheezing sound akin to a humourless snort before pulling her hair away from her neck, exposing her scar. My eyes widened in surprise, while Ron merely gaped in awe; yet again, Hagrid had mentioned her having a scar like mine, but in my time knowing her, I'd never noticed hers right there on her neck. Granted, she usually covered her body as much as she could, and she rarely ever tied her hair up as she'd had it just moments ago, so I had never once noticed the scar on her neck shaped, just like mine, like a lightning bolt.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I uncapped that marker of hers and wrote on her board, my writing thick and messy, a scrawl compared to her neat, print-like calligraphy; she had practiced non-stopped for as long as I'd known her. When I finished, I handed it to her and regarded her intensely, gripping tightly at the hem of my large sweatshirt in anticipation; Mr. Harrison had given it to me, a week before Li— _Delilah_ 's first Christmas with us, though I hadn't opened it until after New Year, with everything that happened days before the anticipated date. Despite what had become of the man, he had been very kind to me before the loss of his wife, almost like the father I never had, or rather the uncle I wish I had. This was one of the few moments I had of that "family" before everything went down.

I watched as she quickly read the note, my brows furrowed as I waited impatiently.

 _Can you read my thoughts?_ is what I asked.

I knew she could communicate with her mind— she always had. But, could she read others? I wanted answers, but with Ron in the room, it may just be impossible, though I couldn't wait any longer.

I stared as she seemed to mull over the request behind my question, subconsciously sinking further into her seat. After a moment, she looked away and sighed, resting her head against the window, closing her eyes, her forehead creasing as her brows furrowed.

I felt my own brows furrow sadly as it seemed she would ignore me, but, for a moment there, I was struck with her appearance.

Was it possible for someone you hadn't seen in a long time... to suddenly look much more beautiful?

Though she looked paler than I could remember, and her face looked thinner and her hair was longer and messier than she used to carry it, rugged curtains of midnight black and dark chocolate cascading to her lower back; I couldn't help but find her all the more beautiful than the last time I'd seen her.

I dreamt of her nearly every night for an entire year. Her orange-pink eyes were imprinted in my mind, along with that silly look that would crease upon her face whenever she would attempt to smile at _me_.

Her style in clothing had not changed much either, donning what looked like a rather old pair of dark, washed-out jeans, a dark violet t-shirt with a black long-sleeved shirt peeking out from underneath, a black hoodie hanging loosely from her upper-body, its hood covering her head once more. With her, she had that shoulder bag of hers Mrs. Merilyn had bought her when the school term had begun the previous year, lying on the floor by her feet.

Shaking my head to clear up my mind, I looked away from the beautiful girl I had missed terribly and looked up at Ron who had been staring at her as well with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open as he openly ogled her.

"She's very pretty," he whispered. I disagreed; she was _beautiful_ , but he had to _stop_ staring at her like that before I did something I may just regret. "Why do you think she doesn't talk?"

My lips parted, but nothing came out as I frowned. "I dunno..." I had never actually found out why. "Though that's something I'd like to know myself..." I added softly as an afterthought.

"Me too," he agreed, nodding while turning to look at her again curiously.

He was silent for a moment longer and I gradually grew restless as I felt him blatantly staring at the two of us. Suddenly, he spoke up once again, uttering a question that caught me completely off guard.

"You fancy her, don't you?"

My eyes wide, I was quick to avert my gaze as I felt my face heating up. "W-what? N-no, I don't..."

"Yes, you do." He grinned cheekily. "You have the same look my oldest brother Bill has when he speaks of this girl he used to fancy in his time at Hogwarts. Hell, I reckon he still fancies her to this day."

"I don't fancy her—"

"Does that mean you already knew her?"

"I don't fancy her!!"

"That wasn't my question."

"Dammit!"

My exclamation seemed to have startled him to silence, for as soon as the word died out, he grew silent and stared at me with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

I awkwardly cleared my throat. "So... erm... are all your family wizards?" I asked in an attempt to avert his attention from her.

He blinked. "Er— yes." It worked. "I think so. I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible— well, not all of them."

I threw Li— _Delilah_ a sideways glance, averting my gaze after a second, thinking fondly of the other three figures in my life that were actually good people... actually five— Mr. Banner was pretty awesome, and Miss Kathie had been very sweet as well.

The Dursleys, on the other hand...

"My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left— Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep. A deep guttural sound akin to a groan filled with an edge of disgust came from beside me, and I turned to find Li— _Delilah_ eyeing the rat, nose scrunched, face twisted in a grimace.

I gave her a questioning look and felt my eyes widen slightly when I suddenly felt that familiar feeling of a trickle of something akin to a static shock puncturing the back of my head before her voice suddenly resonated in my head after so long.

" _That..._ "

I found myself leaning toward her ever so slightly, my gaze inquiring further.

" _That thing is repulsive._ "

I couldn't help but deadpan at her deadpanning tone and stare.

"His name's Scabbers," said Ron, utterly oblivious to our silent exchange. "And he's useless—" _Clearly_. "— he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn't aff— I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much because he went back to staring out of the window. I didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, I'd never had any money in my life until a month ago, and I told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer him up.

Huh, glad my previous suffering was able to lift his spirits. _Not_.

"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort."

Ron gasped.

"What?" I asked.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people—"

Li— _Delilah_ uttered another snort, pulling our attention back her way. She lifted her whiteboard for us to read what she'd written, the look on her face, yet again, deadpanning.

 _Voldemort_.

I slapped my hand against my forehead in a literal face-palm motion as I reached out with my other hand and lowered her whiteboard, rolling my eyes at her purposeful spite.

"I— _we_ 're not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," I said. "I never knew you shouldn't."

Ron huffed slightly. "What's her excuse?"

"She likes to spite people for the heck of it."

And again she lifted her board, having written exactly what I had just retorted. _I like to spite people for the heck of it._

"Either way, borderline is, I've got loads to learn... I bet," I added.

_Not me. Well, not as much._

"I bet I'm the worst in the class."

_Probably._

God, Lilah, what's with the wit and spiteful attitude, all of a sudden?

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

_I would not hold my breath._

I groaned.

"I'm confused," Ron uttered. "Do you two _actually_ already know each other, then?"

"Yes."

 _No_.

"I just knew her as Lila—"

_I have never once been a Lilac._

"I'm going to take a wild guess and assume I should believe Harry. Am I wrong?"

"Nope."

 _Depends which perspective you would choose to look from. I knew a_ _ Harry _ _. I never knew a Harry_ _ Potter _ _._

I deadpanned. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong there...

While we had been talking, the train had carried us out of London. Now we were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. We were quiet for a time, him watching the fields and lanes flick past... while I was watching Li— _Delilah_ , who was, yet again, staring out the window, this time, in wonder.

I was struck, for a moment, when I felt the familiarity of her skin brushing against my hand, palm soft but fingers roughened from numerous hours of carpentry work...probably still her only hobby... I glanced down and found she had been reaching out to me, perhaps out of instinct. Decisively, I latched onto her hand, seemingly startling her enough to jolt in her seat, but not move from her position any further. I felt her stiffen momentarily before her hand relaxed in mine, and despite none of my questions being answered, never mind the fact that I had only asked one which was arguably answered when she spoke into my mind, I ended my conflicting resolve with simply contenting myself with holding hands yet again with my best friend.

Around half-past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back our door and said,

"Anything off the cart, dears?"

I jumped when Li— _Delilah_ instantly tore her hand from mine and frowned, but my attention was drawn back to the very inviting food; I hadn't had any breakfast this morning, so I leaped to my feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches as I went out into the corridor. I had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and only ever could taste such sweetness when I spent time with Lilah.

God, I miss those Mars Bars...

Now that I had pockets rattling with gold and silver— or whatever the heck coinage terms they use in this world—, however, I was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as I could carry— but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. _God_ s _be damned..._

What she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things I had never seen in my life. Not wanting to miss anything, I got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts. Lilah bought three Chocolate Frogs, cauldron cakes and Licorice Wands, then literally ran back to her seat.

Ron stared as I brought all my sweets back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," I replied, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," I offered, holding up a pasty. "Go on—"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," I insisted.

I had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share with. When Lilah lived across from me in Privet Drive, she would all but forbid me from giving her anything, and would be the only one sharing in our friendship. Our special getaway that was her little tree-house, those days we would spend reading in the Harrisons lounge, those snacks she would spare me during lunch hour, all those Mars Bars...

I had a feeling even now, she might not accept me sharing with her, but there was Ron, sitting right in front of me; I _could_ share. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating our way through all my pasties, cakes, and candies.

I looked over at Li—Del— screw it, _Lilah_ — and saw that she only ate one Licorice Wand, though grimacing as she munched into it. She looked up at us and held out the rest of her sweets at us.

"You don't want it?" Ron asked.

She shook her head and lay her sweets on top of my pile. I smiled at her and she simply nodded before looking back out the window.

I saw a weird-looking pack on my pile and grabbed it. "What are these?" I asked Ron, holding it up.

 _Chocolate Frogs_ was written on the cover.

"They're not really frogs, are they?" I was starting to feel that nothing would surprise me.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know— Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect— famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

I unwrapped my Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" I exclaimed.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa— thanks."

I turned over my card and read:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS**

**Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.**

I turned the card back over and saw, to my astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," I told him. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "Weird!"

I stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on my card and gave me a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but I couldn't keep my eyes off them. Soon I had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. I finally tore my eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned me. "When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour— you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavoured one once."

He picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner. "Bleaaargh— see? Sprouts."

We had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. I got toast, coconut, baked bean, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

Lilah snorted and took the bag from my hands. She shook it before grabbing a handful. She narrowed her eyes at the beans in her hands, and, for a moment, her eyes flashed a glowing shade of purple before a great quantity from the ones she had been holding were floating their way towards Ron and me.

Brown, purple, blue, white and red beans dropped onto our hands as she put the rest back into the bag after popping a red one into her mouth. We stared at her wide-eyed. What was her intention?

I popped one of the brown beans into my mouth and couldn't help but smile as I tasted the chocolate flavour in my mouth. Ron popped about four red ones into his mouth and grinned.

"Raspberry! I didn't even think they had those!! Thanks, Delilah!" he exclaimed himself.

She looked at him, amused, before bringing two fingers to her forehead and saluted us like a soldier, making Ron laugh. I could only stare, mouth wide agape, utterly dumbfounded, even more so when she noticed my gaze and winked before pressing a finger to her lips in a secretive motion, lips twitching slightly as they usually did whenever she tried to smile. I couldn't help my own grin upon realizing this; it seems the tension between us is finally dissipating— slowly, but surely. I hope, soon, it will be like it used, or at least close to how it was; considering where we are today and how we got here, I know there is _no_ way things will ever get back to _normal_.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone and now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills; Lilah looked on longingly, making me curiouser and curiouser. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of our compartment and a round-faced boy walked in with tearful eyes.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Ron and I shook our heads and we all three looked up at Lilah, who shook her head as well, followed by a shrug.

He then wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," I reassured him.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lilah about to raise her board and when I caught what she had written on it— _Probably not_ — I groaned and caught her wrist, giving her a stern look to which she merely gave an innocent shrug.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him..." And he left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Lilah snorted and I couldn't help but chuckle as well, sharing her amusement, as we watched the rat still snoozing, ever so comfortably, on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end. I gave a sideways glance at Lilah and saw that she was gazing at Ron curiously, tilting her head to the side.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway..."

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toad-less boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said.

She had a bossy air to her that dripped through her voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

" _Brownie-Bush_ ," Delilah mumbled into my mind, and I fought back a snort. " _... I want chocolate now_."

She actually reached for a Chocolate Frog as soon as she thought that, quickly biting the head off before it could leap away.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er— all right." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep. Lilah nearly choked on her chocolate and dropped her gaze down to her hands, coughing softly. I think she was trying not to laugh. I wasn't much better; nearly bit my lip off to keep myself from laughing aloud.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard— I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough— I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you."

She said all this very fast too; did she even breathe?

" _... that was literally all said in one whole breath._ "

See? Even she thinks so...

I looked at Ron and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

" _I nearly did._ "

I blinked in surprise; I was well aware that Lilah was curious about many things.

" _But I gave up; I kept falling asleep from how boring it all was_."

Called it; she _actually_ took pride in her short attention span.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," I said.

Hermione blinked. "Are you really?" she wondered. "I know _all_ about you, of course—" I don't think I really like that particular emphasis... "— I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

" _Right, because the world would definitely know everything there is to know about the two babies who somehow took down the infamous Dark Lord. You know... because babies totally understand when they are dubbed as heroes... or anything really._ "

Ah, Lilah; always there to keep me grounded with your boundless wit and sarcasm.

"Am I?"

"Goodness, didn't you know—" I'd had a feeling... "I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad..." she trailed off as she finally noticed Lilah sitting right next to me.

"Who are you?" she asked her curiously.

Lilah deadpanned. " _Someone who breathes_."

I, honestly, wouldn't have been surprised if she'd written that on her whiteboard, but, instead, she chose to be a little more civil and polite, and introduced herself. The, _clearly_ , very talkative Hermione was shot speechless upon reading Lilah's introduction, her eyes widening with shock, practically bulging out of their sockets.

"Y-you're D-Delilah Keren Elleah-Rose Hawkins?" she stammered in her shock.

That... is a really long name; now I get why she'd chosen to go by Lilah during her stay at Privet Drive. Lilah nodded and grabbed her board, erased what was written, wrote something else and displayed it before us yet again,

 _Yes, that is my name. It is a pleasure to meet you_ _as well_.

My brows raised, surprised at her choice of wording.

" _No need to be_ ," her thoughts resonated in my head. " _I do not find any actual pleasure in meeting people; I just read somewhere that this is how you greet someone civilly._ "

Of course.

Hermione nodded fervently, blushing, before... bowing? She then shook her head as though to clear her mind before saying, "A-anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toad-less boy with her.

" _I am_ definitely _not going to remember her name in, like, an hour... probably less than that. Wait... yup, totally forgot it._ "

I snorted.

"Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron.

_Karma tends to be a real bi—_

I caught Lilah's wrist and gave her a look, to which she merely responded with that innocent look of hers, her lower lip jutting out.

Oh, _please_.

Ron threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell— George gave it to me; bet he knew it was a dud."

"What House are your brothers in?" I asked.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the House Vol— I mean, _You-Know-Who_ was in, right?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," I said, trying to ease his worries. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

I was wondering what a wizard did once they'd finished with school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles— someone tried to rob a high-security vault."

I stared. "Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

" _I thought he was dead_ ," Delilah deadpanned. " _Is that not the whole point behind our being famous?_ "

I glanced her way and shrugged as I turned this news over in my mind. I was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. I supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er— I don't know any," I confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world—"

And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking me through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toad-less boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and I recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop over in Diagon Alley. He was looking at me with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in the Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," I said.

I was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean; they reminded me of Dudley, but... well, bigger. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where I was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to me. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake mine, but I didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," I said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit more polite, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Ron and I stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," I said, more bravely than I felt because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than me or Ron.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

They were about to step forward but someone else pushed Ron and I back. Lilah was standing between us facing the three boys with crossed arms.

"A-and you are?" Malfoy asked, slightly blushing as he looked at her in awe. I glared at him from behind her but was taken aback when she suddenly pulled her hair back and showing them her scar.

The three boys' eyes widened in shock. "Y-you're D-Delilah—" She cut him off by pointing a finger towards the door, leaving no room for objections.

Goyle, who was completely ignoring the situation, reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron— Ron leaped forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle— Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once.

" _Over chocolate? Seriously? Even I am not that savage when it comes down to it..._ "

Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to me. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No— I don't believe it— he's gone back to sleep!"

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

I explained about our meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right— I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. I peered out of the window. It was getting dark. I could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down, but then I just realized something. Lilah was still standing in front of us. She put a hand on my chest and another one on Ron's and gently pushed us down into our seats so she could go to hers. She bent down and to grab her shoulder bag and as she looked back up, something squeaked. That was when I realized there was another cage here. I looked at it and couldn't help but gasp as I saw her petting a... phoenix.

... whoa.

She looked back at us, grabbed her board and scribbled on it. She held it up and we read,

 _I'm going to go change, you should too. Please keep an eye on Atlas_. She tapped her phoenix's cage. We nodded and with that, she left but not before giving Ron a folded piece of paper.

Once the door of the compartment closed behind her, Ron and I shared a confused look. He unfolded the piece of paper and his eyes widened. He quickly got his wand out and pointed it at his rat.

"'Envision the colour you want as you call out the following incantation.'" Ron frowned. "What's 'envision'?"

"Imagine, picture it," I supplied with a shrug.

Brows furrowed, he read through the note once more before gazing down at the rat lying lazily on his lap. " _Colovaria_ ," he said while waving his wand and just as he did, the rat turned a yellow-hay colour.

Our mouths dropped open as we stared at it in shock.

"Whoa."

**Hog** **of W** **arts Castle, Highlands, Scotland,** **UK**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

As soon as I was done putting on my uniform, I soundlessly made my way back to my compartment, trying to avoid being stopped by curious noses along the way. Once I reached the door, I knocked three times and waited for a reply.

"Come in," said Carrot-Top.

I nodded to myself and entered the compartment, closing the door behind me. Just as I took my seat by the window, a voice echoed through the train:

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

My stomach lurched with nerves and anticipation as I walked over to my seat, grabbing my whiteboard and marker before reaching out to the cage of my familiar. I opened his little door and he instantly flew out, settling on my shoulder and nuzzling his little head against my cheek. I felt my lips curl slightly at the affection he displayed toward me and caressed him atop the head.

" _Go on ahead and find Grandpa D, Atlas; I will let you know where my room is after supper._ "

" _Alright, Little D._ " I snorted softly under my breath at what he called me. " _Careful on your way in, and make sure to eat well._ "

I rolled my eyes but nuzzled my face against his feathers, indicating I would heed his advice before opening the window and watching him fondly as he flew off into the night.

After closing the window behind him, I turned and raised a brow, mildly amused, upon finding Harry and Carrot-Top cramming their pockets with the last of the sweets before we joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the doors and out onto a tiny, dark platform.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry shiver from the cold night air. I drew closer to him and felt him relax upon feeling the heat radiating from my body to him; I was always warmer than the norm, it came with being a shifter. Harry knew I was like this, but he never knew why; I always just told him I simply had warm blood.

I can't believe he actually believed that; everyone's blood is warm. I wonder whether he'd believe me if I told him I had burning veins; considering where we are now, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. But come on— burning veins? I would literally not be alive if that were the case; if he did believe that then there is a serious problem... and that's coming from me.

A lamp suddenly came bobbing over our heads as I heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"Hello there, 'Lilah," he said to me with a warm smile.

I tilted my head to one side, eyeing the man in his full height as I waved hello at him. We hadn't encountered but a few times, and still, his giant stature left me in awe. And to think there still might be others even bigger and taller than him...

"C'mon, follow me— any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling with me walking ever so casually, we followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. Though my sight was enhanced, I was in my human form, so I still found it to be rather dark on either side of us, and could vaguely distinguish the thick trees there. Nobody spoke much; the boy who kept losing his toad sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

I'd known what it would look like as the pictures in _Hog of Warts: A History_ were literally all I found interesting, but seeing it in person was all the more glorious. I wonder how my parents and my grandparents before them had felt during their first time at Hog of Warts. Were they just as amazed every new year they got to come back to this wondrous sight?

"No more 'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

Harry and Carrot-Top headed towards a boat and I trailed behind hesitantly. Harry turned to look at me and smiled. He grabbed my hand and helped me onto the boat before I could even ask if I could go with them. Carrot-Top grinned as he saw me settle in, but as soon as his grin came, it faded as we saw the bushy-haired— I wasn't lying when I'd said I'd forget her name— join us. She smiled at Harry, smiled even brighter at me as I just nodded in approval, then she glared at Carrot-Top. Wow... _okay_.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then— FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over us as we sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid.

As the first boats reached the cliff, through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face, I raised a brow at my fellow first-years, deadpanning as I watched them all bend our heads without taking into consideration the fact that this was coming from a half-giant man. _Honestly_ , some kids are just dense. We were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking us right underneath the castle until we reached a kind of underground harbour, where we clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oi, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried the round-faced boy ever so blissfully, holding out his hands.

Seriously? You get an abnormally large toad for a pet, and you call him _Trevor_? That's like working in a museum in, let's say, Egypt, where everyone is from there, but one of your co-workers turns out to be named _Bob_. Ugh, some people...

We all clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle, then walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

With a fervent nod from said boy, Hagrid turned and raised a gigantic fist, knocking three times on the castle door. The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there with a very stern face.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

 _Ah_.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit a whole pack of werewolves in it... not that I would ever affiliate myself with those filthy wolf skin-wearers... though Alessia and Annabelle may just be the only exceptions. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing us led to the upper floors.

We followed Professor McGone...gone across the flagged stone floor. I could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right— the rest of the school must already be here— but she showed quickly us, first years, into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowded in, standing rather closer together than we would usually have done, and my boredom was beginning to get the best of me yet again.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonegone. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses.

The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points.

At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

I noticed how her eyes lingered for a moment on the round-faced boy whose cloak was fastened under his left ear, and on Carrot-Top's smudged nose. I caught Harry fervently trying to flatten his hair, from the corner of my eye.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonegone. "Please wait quietly."

As soon as she left the chamber, I turned to the round-faced boy who had a knack, it seems, of losing his toad and quickly arranged his cloak. Then, I turned to Carrot-Top and cleaned the smudge off his nose with the sleeve of my robe before finally turning to Harry, hesitating momentarily before reaching forward and fixing his hair. I took notice of how their faces flushed red when I'd suddenly approached, but as soon as I was done, they smiled timidly at me to which I merely nodded, uncertain of how else I was meant to react.

"How exactly do they Sort us into Houses?" Harry asked.

"Some sort of test, I think," said Carrot-Top. "Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

I raised a brow and tilted my head to the side, mildly amused by everything Carrot-Top's brothers said to him; poor boy seemed so gullible he would believe anything they told him. I wonder if _he_ would believe me if I told him I had burning veins. Ha; I bet that would be worth a laugh.

I glanced back at said redhead and felt my lips twitch as I shook my head. Really, though? A test? Even the most gullible person wouldn't believe _that_ ; not everyone knows magic yet. Just like with the spell they had given him, I was sure they were kidding him. I watched him carefully as he looked around anxiously and noticed how everyone else looked terrified as well. No one was talking much except for that Hermeown girl... Brownie-Bush. Gods, I should've brought one of those Chocolate Frogs with me...

I raised a brow, yet again, as I heard her whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need.

That was when I remembered something; Harry's glasses were still held by Scotch tape.

I sighed and brought out my wand before tapping lightly on his shoulder. He turned around to look at me and I startled him upon snatching his glasses right off his face. This really shouldn't have surprised him; I used to do it a lot, back in Privet Drive whenever he would somehow manage to get beaten by that stupid pig of a Dursley and his friends at school, even when I was around. I should _really_ learn some of that Wiccan magic; _then_ , the Ministry wouldn't be able to keep me from teaching the pig a lesson or two...

I carefully examined his glasses, momentarily narrowing my eyes at the round spectacles as I thought of the right spell in my mind.

_Oculus Reparo_

So, I'd fallen asleep through some— _most_ of my readings. Doesn't mean it was through _all_ of them; who would pass out on a chance to learn how to _cast magic spells_?

I watched as the Scotch tape swiftly unrolled from the bridge holding together the pair of glasses, revealing a perfectly intact frame. With that done, I put his glasses back on him and nodded to myself, admiring my work of art. He blinked back a few times in shock before grinning. Then something happened that made us jump about a foot in the air; several people behind us had suddenly screamed.

"What the—"

Harry gasped and so did most of the others around us; about twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and mildly translucent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing over at us. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost— I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed us. Nobody answered.

I deadpanned. " _We are preparing to join you in the afterlife._ "

It would've had more effect, had they _actually_ been able to hear me. Alas, you cannot speak into the minds of the dead.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar ghost dude, smiling around at us. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely— hey, that's my thing.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonegone had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonegone told us, "and follow me."

Feeling odd as though my legs had turned to lead, with Carrot-Top behind a boy with sandy hair, and Harry behind him, I got in line right behind him and we all walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

I had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonegone led us up there so that we came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind us. The hundreds of faces staring at us looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

To avoid all the staring eyes, I looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars, though I couldn't help but wonder— how are the candles not dripping wax?

I heard the bushy-haired girl whisper to me, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts_ _:_ _A History_."

I hadn't been wondering about _that_ , but... _okay_. I merely nodded to the girl as, in actuality, I had already known that since Grandpa D had already told me about it. He hadn't told me about the candles, though, and my sense of logic couldn't help but get a hold of me.

I quickly dropped my gaze as Professor McGonegone silently placed a four-legged stool in front of us. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. If my grandmother were still alive, she wouldn't have even let that old thing into the House.

The hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth— and the hat began to sing:

" _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_ "

I blinked. _Uh... what?_

The entire Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed— _somehow_ — to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Carrot-Top whispered. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

In an instant, I showed them my whiteboard. _I would not be surprised if we did have to, at some point._ Honestly,it's a school of magic— we'll probably end up having to face a filthy mutt or even a dragon at some point in time...

Harry gave me a look to which I shrugged and gave an innocent one in return, while Carrot-Top's face paled at the thought of fighting a troll. As interesting as battling a monster would be— _I vote beating to shreds a wolf skin-wearer_ — trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, though I would have preferred trying it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; I didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, or even one for loners in particular; _that_ would have been the one for me. A House for the outsiders like myself.

Gods, I miss my cottage...

Professor McGonegone stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the far right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. I saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Ancrum, Scott!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with the boy as he joined them.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. "Bulstrode, Millicent" went on to Slytherin, "Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" to Hufflepuff, and so on.

My attention faded in and out until my curiosity got the better of me upon hearing that bushy-haired girl's name. I was indifferent upon hearing her being placed in Gryffindor, though I could not help but feel slightly amused upon hearing Carrot-Top groan at that.

"Hawkins, Delilah!"

I wonder... would I have gone earlier if I'd decided to have my mother's maiden name? After all, it did begin letters before 'H'. What about if I had remained a Harrison?

My musings were cut short when I noticed the entire Great Hall had fallen nearly as silent as myself, and I was suddenly struck with an uncertainty of how I should react. I never... _played_ well with others, nor had I been around others my own age long enough to react accordingly. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my posture before stepping forward toward the stool, my brow twitching with a tinge of irritation as the whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the Hall.

"Hawkins, did she say?"

No, Hawk-moth.

" _The_ Delilah Keren Elleah-Rose Hawkins?"

Okay, I know I'm famous, but how does _anyone_ even retain my full name?

"That's... a long name."

Exactly my point.

"She's hot."

Wait... what? No, impossible— whoever said that couldn't possibly know about me being a shifter... right? Or even how high my temperature is per norm— I've only ever been in close proximity with Harry!!

"She's a first-year!"

... I'm starting to think that previous comment had been inappropriate...

"Doesn't look like one..."

... yeah, I'm going to definitely ignore those last three comments.

The last thing I saw before the hat dropped over my eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at me. In the next second, I was looking at the black inside of the hat and waited for the verdict.

" _My dear,_ " the hat began after a moment, his voice resonating within my mind. " _I must say, you surprise me more than any other I have Sorted. Despite the dark path your life has departed on,_ _your mind_ _remains_ _full of wonderful things_ _._ _Hmmm_ _... Yes, y_ _ou are very powerful,_ _as expected of someone of your lineage._ _Oh! What wonders you could do in the sky!_ "

I frowned, perturbed by his words, yet again very uncertain of how I should react.

" _I sense pounds of listlessness, yet there are unmeasurable amounts of cleverness and intelligence as a whole. Lots of wit and attitude— you seem to have outgrown your timidity without realizing it._ "

I blinked. Maybe... maybe he is right on that account; I do tend to be brutally honest and much less uncensored with my words. That may be due to my lack of understanding emotions, though, or even my listlessness altogether. Either way, I haven't had much time to compensate for the constant fear I'd felt for eight years of my life, so that may be another reason why.

" _You, indeed, have the cunningness and ambition of a Slytherin. That wittiness and wisdom formed from your experience could get you a fine place in Ravenclaw, though. Nonetheless, you are a pack member, and with a place in a pack comes the loyalty, kindness, and diligence of a comrade-in-arms, all of which you possess. Above all else, however, you_ are _an_ alpha _._ "

I blinked, startled at the mention of the title.

" _And with such power and responsibility, comes the norm of being brave and chivalrous, the most important qualities that come with leading and protecting your people. It also helps that you have all sorts of lineage entangled in your blood; you must have been greatly favoured by_ theGoddess _... However, it does little for my decision-making process... now,_ _where to put you err_ _..._ _err..._ "

There was a pause before Mister Hat spoke again.

"Gryhuffravyth!" he blurted out, the word almost sounding like something one would exclaim had they been throwing up.

I blinked, startled, before I turned to glance over at Grandpa D questioningly, a frown adorning his own, sage face.

"Sorting Hat, pick _a_ House," he said.

"I have," said Mister Hat ever so casually, as though he had not just voiced an oddity. "'Gry' for _Gry_ ffindor, 'Huff' for _Huff_ lepuff, 'Rav' for _Rav_ enclaw and 'Yth' for Sl _yth_ erin. There. I picked a House for her."

I was getting more and more confused so I glanced up at Professor McGonegone with the same questioning look. She shook her head, seemingly sharing my confusion.

"PICK A PROPER HOUSE, SORTING HAT!" Grandpa D yelled.

"I need more time to figure this one out," Mister Hat replied.

" _Mister, eh?_ " said a voice inside my head.

I instantly knew it belonged to the hat on my head.

" _What else do you expect me to call you? I am not mean enough to simply call you_ _'_ _the hat_ _'_ ," I replied in my head. " _Though I was, admittedly, going to call you "extra"..._ "

"..."

" _Sorry._ "

" _Hmmm_ _..._ "

" _So_ _..._ _why is it so hard to choose a_ _House_ _for_ me _again_ _?_ "

" _My dear, the Sorting is a very straightforward process: I seek and select which quality most blemishes among all others and Sort the student accordingly to what they could accomplish with it. I've come across many who've held more than one affinity that would hold a place in more than one House; all of them, however... that, I'm afraid, has never occurred. Y_ _ou_ _, Delilah, have potential beyond the norm, all of which delivers the possibility to be Sorted in all Houses if such a result were conceivable._ "

I had noticed how he avoided saying my surname, but mentioned nothing at that account, only able to react in my usual way;

I deadpanned.

" _And yet, you were able to Sort me into some made-up House._ "

Mister Hat chuckled, sounding almost sheepish. " _I apologize if I'd alarmed you, but it was a spur of the moment. I've never had such a hard time Sorting anyone. Your mother was quite a challenge, and your grandparents before her, but you really break that record. Not even your uncle was this difficult— boy all but demanded to be placed in Hufflepuff, just because he wished to be left alone._ "

I blinked. Er... what now?

"Though you do share this similar attitude, there is just so much in that head of yours..."

" _What?_ "

" _... just screaming. Seriously, your thoughts are rather loud for a mute._ "

I frowned at this; but I always try to think as little as possible. Thinking takes effort I don't feel like exerting...

" _Additionally to the boundless potential you withhold, what makes this all even harder is the Alpha's blood running through your veins. You're a pack member, indeed, but you don't follow it, you_ lead _it. Making a decision for_ the _Alpha would be like_ ordering _it to do something, and tha_ _t is against_ every _natural law_ ," he spoke softly into my mind.

I narrowed my eyes momentarily and huffed, beginning to feel a tad bit exasperated. " _Could_ _I not_ _just c_ _hoose_ _what House to be in, then_ _?_ " I asked him. " _I know it may go against rule and tradition of the Adept ways, but... in any case, if we are to respect the right of choice of an alpha, I do not see any other way to proceed._ "

Mister Hat fell silent yet again. After a moment, however, I was startled out of my thoughts and nearly fell off the stool when he suddenly laughed in disbelief as if he had just heard of the biggest discovery of the century and just realized he could have just as well come up with it on his own.

" _Of course!_ Why didn't I think of that before?!" he exclaimed himself.

 _Seriously_? And you just mentioned it not even a second ago.

My lips parted slightly as I deadpanned; truthfully, it was the most obvious option anyway, if we took into account the fact that he was profusely considering the Alpha blood running through my veins. We could've also done the whole lottery drawing and drawn the House out of the hat, but I don't think he would've enjoyed going through that. After conveying the idea to Grandpa D and getting a nod of approval from him, I nodded to myself and took a deep breath before rummaging through my brain. I needed to think of what possible House Harry might wind up in and choose accordingly.

At this moment, it did not matter how much guilt I felt for having left him. It didn't matter how curious I was about the other Houses. It didn't matter that my grandmother had been in one House, my grandfather in another, and my mother in one other. It didn't matter if it may just turn out that my father wasn't my father because I knew with absolute confidence that there was simply _no_ way he attended a school of magic, least of all Hog of Warts. It didn't matter if I suddenly felt scared of what outcome my decision would have.

I had to be brave and face my fears, like I had done that moment I broke through the window and ran for dear life into the woods and out unto the trail of Oberg Mountain, leading myself to my freedom.

Another second ticked by, and my mind was made up, instantly conveying my choice to the hat atop my head.

Mister Hat chuckled softly, an edge to his tone that suggested he may have known what my decision would be already.

"Well, if you think that is best, I must admit I feel you will do _great_ things, my dear, in GRYFFINDOR!" Mister Hat exclaimed himself, shouting the last word to the entire Hall.

I blinked, startled yet again as he was taken from atop my head. There was a ten-second long silence as I got off the stool and stood there, my mind still trying to process the long conversation I had... with a _hat_ , before everyone at the Gryffindor table jumped up and cheered. I had to fight back a grimace as the loud cheer bothered my sensitive hearing, pounding hard against my eardrums.

As I soundlessly made my way toward the Gryffindor table, the redheaded twins, seemingly being some of the most excited among the table, jumped around, yelling simultaneously,

"We got Hawkins! We got Hawkins!"

"She's a Hawk," one of the twins said.

"And she's in," the other continued

"Gryffindor!"

As they ended their odd little chant they'd constructed from my name, Perry— another Weasel— got up to shake my hand quite vigorously before I settled beside the twins, across from the bushy-haired girl who smiled widely at me.

I inclined my head her way before dropping my gaze and absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the golden plate laying empty before me as the ruckus around me settled down a bit and the Sorting resumed. The boredom of the lot almost had me falling asleep, though the constant eyes on me filled me with discomfort as I waited impatiently for Harry's name to be called out.

As the names kept being called and their Sorting made, I let my eyes cruise around the room, and ceiling as well. I was vaguely aware of the one Hopkins that joined our table, while another was sorted in Hufflepuff, but my attention was solely on the ceiling, more specifically the floating candles. Seriously, how isn't there any candle wax falling? That's just... how does that even work?

My gaze continued to wander, my eyes crossing a few curious glances thrown my way. Most of all regarded me with a certain daze, but I noticed one in particular regarding me with genuine interest as a person, rather than a supposed hero. For some reason, this brought heat to my cheeks as my eyes locked upon the bright gray orbs of a bronze-haired boy who appeared to be no more than a year or two older than me, sitting at the table I assumed to belong to the House Hufflepuff.

This unbearable heat blazing against my cheeks pushed me to avert my gaze, which instantly locked upon a pair of strange purple eyes that struck me with a sense of familiarity. The eyes belonged to a very pretty girl with a complexion similar to my own, her slightly triangular face framed with a mane of dark brown hair streaked with dark red locks, the entirety falling just past her shoulders in pretty, bouncy curls. The girl stared back at me, tilting her head to the side as she regarded me curiously and, for a moment, I was struck with a thought.

Do I look just as stupid when I tilt my head to the side?

Before I could ponder over the thought a little while longer, the name I had been waiting for was finally announced, and my eyes were brought back to the front of the Hall.

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the Hall yet again. I straightened my posture ever so slightly and narrowed my eyes as I drowned out all the other noises in the room and concentrated only on what Mister Hat would say next.

"Potter, did she say?"

Okay, are these kids deaf?

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

No, the Princess and the P _auper_. Geez, just shut up already, you bunch of extras!

Unlike with myself, I heard Mister Hat speaking aloud. Thankfully, he understood the sense of privacy and spoke so low only Harry could hear him.

"Hmm... difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, and my goodness, yes— and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... so where shall I put you?"

So low only Harry could hear him... didn't mean I couldn't. For goodness sake, I hope he chooses wisely.

I watched, a tad bit concerned when I noticed Harry gripping the edges of the stool ever so tightly till his knuckles turned white as he mumbled under his breath.

"Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin..."

Oi, there's nothing wrong with Slytherin. I mean... other than its reputation for housing dark wizards, but I mean— rumours, am I right?

"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that— no?"

If that hat were a person, I bet he would've been Sorted in Slytherin in his youth. That sly little—

"Well, if you're sure— better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Mister Hat shouted the last word to the entire Hall and then suddenly the whole Gryffindor tabled erupted in, yet, another excruciatingly loud cheer as Harry joined us.

Percy, yet again, got up and shook his hand, while the twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Hawkins!"

"We've got the Pot!"

"The Pot has en _ter_ ed—"

"With the Hawk—" Seriously? You're bringing me up again? "And they're now both in—"

"Gryffindor!" they both finished at the same time as Harry came to settle on the empty seat to my right, a bright smile on his face.

I merely blinked at the twins with uncertainty before nodding at them ever so hesitantly, my lips twitching so much I nearly thought they'd spasmed. Am I really enjoying this so much my lips are trying to smile on their own?

Just then, the ghost I'd seen earlier, appeared in the ruff. It smiled at Harry approvingly then patted my arm, giving me the sudden, horrible feeling I'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water, which was a very odd feeling indeed, considering I rarely ever felt any cold. With a shudder running down my spine, I turned my glance back to the front of the Hall where now I could see the High Table more clearly. In the center of it, in a large golden chair, sat Grandpa D beside Hagrid. His silver hair was the only thing in the entire Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. I spotted whom I could easily guess to be Professor Quirrell, a quaint, unsettling man, looking rather peculiar in his large purple turban.

I glanced back down on my plate and frowned; when was the food coming? I daresay, I'm not very hungry after that Licorice Wand and Chocolate Frog I'd eaten on the train, but I do hope there's more chocolate...

"Thomas, Dean."

 _Wha_ — I thought it was over.

I glanced back to the front with a slight jut of my lower lip as a dark-skinned boy, even taller than Carrot-Top, suddenly walked back from the stool and joined us at the Gryffindor table, my brows furrowing impatiently.

"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Carrot-Top's turn.

He was pale green by now. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry cross his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Carrot-Top collapsed into the chair next to me between the twins and I. I nodded at him and patted his arm amicably.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Perry— that _was_ his name... right?— pompously.

Professor McGonegone rolled up her scroll and took Mister Hat away just as Grandpa D had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at everyone, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see us all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

... what?

Everyone stared at him mutely.

"Thank you!" He sat back down, and everybody clapped and cheered.

"Is he— a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Per— oldest Carrot-Top airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of us were now piled with food. I was just as surprised, for I had never seen so many things on one table: roast beef, roast chicken— I may just get some of that chicken, though— pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

It was all so fancy— a real buffet.

Harry and Carrot-Top piled their plates with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. I grabbed a bit here and there, but noticed, after a moment, Harry looking at me disapprovingly before filling up my plate with a bit of everything as well. I frowned at him, feeling my lower lip jutting out, yet again, then blinked, startled, when he suddenly whipped some mashed-potato coated with a tinge of gravy onto my lip.

I deadpanned, and so did he. He's learning so fast, my eyes could water.

"Eat," he uttered plainly.

" _Not hungry._ "

"Lilah..."

" _Hazza_."

"... what?"

" _It means no._ "

My poor attempt at diverting the attention from me was mainly a reaction out of surprise upon hearing him still calling me that as, yet again, I was left uncertain of how else to react. So, instead of putting any effort into some sort of coherent reply, I merely licked the bit of mashed-potato off my lip and grabbed one random piece of chicken and bit a huge chunk out of it, yet again, averting my gaze.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching me scarf down my meat.

Harry glanced over once more upon hearing the ghost and regarded it curiously. "Can't you—"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Ser Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Carrot-Top suddenly. "My brothers told me about you— you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

I blinked. Nearly... headless? How is that even possible? Was he on the brink of being executed when his executioner changed his mind halfway through or something?

"I would prefer you to call me Ser Nicholas de Mimsy—"

Brownie-Bush was quick to interrupt the ghost, voicing the question most raised among Muggles were wondering. " _Nearly_ Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Ser Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if this little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he said irritably.

He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. I glanced down at the rest of the chicken I did not devour and placed it back unto my plate, wiping my hands with a napkin nearby as I lost all appetite, reaching for my goblet which I sincerely hoped contained water. I took a small sip and spat it back in as I took in the odd bittersweet taste of what I can only assume to be pumpkin juice from the smell of it— _gods_ , that stuff is absolutely disgusting!

Ugh... I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Looking pleased with the stunned looks on most faces, Ser Nicholas flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So— new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable— he's the Slytherin ghost."

We looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood... I bet he's an ancestor of mine; that would explain where I get my listlessness from. He was right next to Malfoy who, it seems, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked one boy I vaguely recalled named Shamus Finny (it was something along those lines anyway...) with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Ser Nicholas delicately.

Something told me he actually already knew, but wouldn't diverge such information to a bunch of kids— nice, Sir Nick; you have my genuine respect.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs (the gods heard me!!) and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding—

Needless to say, my appetite had gracefully made its return upon catching sight of all the goods.

I was quick to grab a chocolate éclair and a doughnut, taking an instant bite from my éclair, relishing at the chocolate and cream melting inside my mouth. After swiftly finishing my two snacks, I went to grab another chocolate éclair, grabbing a third and blinking, startled upon realizing I had subconsciously placed it on Harry's plate. Blankly, I shifted my gaze to the boy who was helping himself to a tart then instantly deadpanned upon seeing the éclair on his plate. My reaction was instant as I reached forward and gently flicked him over the forehead; I'm the only one allowed to deadpan as such.

"Ow, Lilah!" he complained, rubbing his forehead.

Well, I thought I was gentle.

Rolling my eyes, I pushed his hand and rubbed his forehead before turning back to my own éclair. " _Oh, quit whining_ _and just eat._ "

Harry stared at me for a moment before he smiled and, yet again, I felt my lips twitch before I shook my head and took another bite off my delicious, mouth-watering dessert, my attention and hearing tuning in and out of conversations. By the time I'd filled myself with three éclair and one doughnut, and with that piece of chicken and mashed potatoes from earlier, I rested my chin on the edge of the table, feeling my stomach grumbling from all the sugar; I feel I may just throw up in a bit... I'll wait till we get to the dorms. Maybe I'll ask Grandpa D for permission to go on a run; I'm not used to eating so much sugar, and I'd known I shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Grandpa D.

No, not another song. With a sigh, I lifted my head and noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed. Grandpa D gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

" _Hogwarts, Hogwarts,_

_Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot_."

I blinked and yawned as everybody finished their songs at different times. At last, only the twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. _Tch_ , weirdos...

Grandpa D conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

 _Tch, weirdo..._ Heh.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

All of us Gryffindor first years followed Perry through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. I was too tired to even be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as we passed, or that twice Perry led us through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

"This way," Perry ushered. "This is the most direct path to the dormitories. Oh, and keep an eye on the staircases; they like to change."

Leaning over the rail, I glanced upward and blinked, sighing softly through my nose. _That's a lot of stairs..._

We climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging our feet, and I was just wondering how much farther we had to go when we came to a sudden halt. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of us, and as Perry took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Perry whispered to us. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves— show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

I narrowed my eyes as I thought for a moment; pranksters are only intimidated by the remotely scary stuff. There's only one thing even _I_ found slightly fearful so far, and that gave me an idea. Uncapping my marker, I wrote swiftly across my board and went up to Perry, showing him my message. Seemingly approving of my idea, he turned to the poltergeist and glared.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

I feel he may have already known this, but perhaps it had simply slipped from his mind; it _had_ been a long day.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at us. Everyone ducked but I stayed put; I'd become irritable from my lack of energy, and he was only keeping us longer than necessary. Pulling my wand out, I swiftly gave it a flick, breaking his sticks into smaller pieces, spelling out a message in midair with them;

" _Go away,_ _Mister_ _Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this_ _._ "

... admittedly, I could've done without the "Mister" but I couldn't help myself; it was a force of habit.

"Oooooooh!" he said, smirking evilly at me. "What 've we got 'ere. Brave ickle firstie."

I narrowed my eyes and wrote, " _N_ _o one wants you nor your stupid pranks right now, so get out of our way_ _, you freaking extra._ _It has been_ _a long day and we_ _all_ _want to sleep_."

Peeves' smirk faded and he stared at me, seemingly startled by my glare. He then pouted and stuck out his tongue before vanishing, dropping the walking sticks, the whole lot of it falling on round-fa— Nev... Toad-boy's head as I had long let them go before Peeves. We heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

I then turned around and nodded at Perry to continue his job as a Prefect... whatever the heck that meant. Probably a student representative of sorts... I dunno, I only paid half-mind when reading about that.

Nodding back at me, he turned to address the other first years. "You want to watch out for Peeves," said Perry, as we set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him; he won't even listen to us prefects... Here we are."

The very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Perry, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall.

We all scrambled through it and found ourselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs, where Perry directed the girls through one door to our dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase— we were obviously in one of the towers.

I went to follow the girls up the stairs on the right when, suddenly, I was cut short by a hand shooting out, gripping my wrist and pulling me to one side. I turned tiredly to the one keeping me from my sleep and blinked upon coming face to face with Harry. He glanced about, waiting for the others to walk past before settling his gaze back on mine.

"Lilah..."

" _Harold_ ," I deadpanned.

He blinked, startled. "What?"

I shrugged, pulling my wrist from his grip. " _I dunno_."

Harry sighed, scratching the corner of his brow, just below his scar. "What happened, Lilah?"

Considering our history, it didn't take a mind reader to know what he was really asking.

Two years ago, I left Bellefaire upon being taken under the fostered care of the Harrisons, the late Missus of which just so happened to be Miss Kathie's older sister. The couple aged in their late thirties had, then, just chosen to turn a page in the small county of London that was Surrey after Mr. Arnold's law-firm had been expanded all the way to Europe, moving into a house Miss Kathie and Mrs. Merilyn's stepfather had found for them on a good deal, the latter being principal of a primary school there as well as good friends with a real estate agent.

In their loneliness as a small family of two, however, the Harrisons had decided to pass by Miss Kathie's establishment in hopes to adopt, or at the very least foster a child, for they could, unfortunately, not have children of their own. Mrs. Merilyn had once told me it had been the love of a parent at first sight when they'd caught sight of me, and nothing, not even my baggage of oddities and muteness, could change their minds from wanting to take me with them.

My hesitance of remaining with them had not faded once, not even after months spent in their lodging, receiving boundless amounts of attention from their part; I could all but _smell_ Thanatos hovering nearby, his scythe looming over Mrs. Merilyn's head like a half of a silver halo, waiting to take her shade to the near-shore of the River Styx the instant her breath was to leave her.

Not even gaining my first friend had done much to waver my indecisiveness.

And then, the bright sun that had once been Arnold Henrick Harrison turned into a full moon eclipse, and the fears I'd fought hard to forget since gaining my freedom had come crashing down on me.

I didn't leave because I felt there was still a part of this man that could be saved. I hadn't known him long, but I'd known him enough to know this new persona was not him. This unmeasurable... _supernatural_ madness would not just sprout out of nowhere as it had. Yes, he'd lost his wife— his _best friend_ , but he wasn't alone; Miss Kathie was still around, and she cared deeply for the man she was proud to call her brother-in-law. Even Mr. Banner was there; though unrelated to the Jones by blood, he was still a father to both Misses and had come to care for the Harrison man just as much, seeing him as the son he never had. And it wasn't only them.

He also had me.

Though I'd fought hard and valiantly, I still could not help but come to care for this man. Yes, he talked me down. Yes, he hit me. Yes, he cut into my skin and nearly re-broke my soul a tenfold from the damage it'd sustained from years of suffering under the Adams. But unlike them, he hadn't just done this all just because it made him laugh. Unlike Christophe and Axel's unwarranted insanity, there was an inexplicable truth lying deep within those tanzanite-blue eyes, speckled with red spinels, that I knew did not belong to him.

I knew now, more than ever, that there were dark secrets within the world of magic. Not just among the Adept, which held Voldy-shorts as fresh and vivid proof of such matter, but also among the Wiccan, be they gone or not.

 _I_ am here and I _am_ Wiccan, so I _know_ they can't all be gone.

Though I have vowed to protect this boy before me from the darkness looming over us, I knew, one day, I would go on my own, once more, in search of what had all but handed my famil _ies_ to the Keres below the Underworld. I don't know what I'll do once I have it— _them_ in front of me... but I will avenge them all if that is the last thing I do.

 _Dawn_... Hawkins... _Harrison_...

I will give those Keres a run for their Golden Drachmas.

I just don't think I could ever stain _his_ mind or soul with all this knowledge, for I can barely handle my own as it is. I don't think I would be able to handle seeing him lose that glimmer in his eyes.

I blinked as my eyes began to water.

"... Lilah?"

Impulsively, I stepped forward and latched onto him, my arms wrapping carefully around his body. Despite how much he'd grown in that year apart, he felt thinner than when I'd last held him; his skin felt a bit colder too. I closed my eyes and relished in the feeling of embracing my only friend, feeling a droplet slide down my cheek and onto his robes.

My lips parted and, for a moment, I was struck to the core with a feeling I could not describe. It was something akin to fondness, that much I could tell. I _knew_ I was fond of him, but just how much was it that it felt like something else entirely? I felt a familiar warmth within me, similar to what I could recall being told was something one of my kind felt when they found their... other half. Thinking about such a comparison made it feel odd and wrong in all sorts of places, for nothing could compare to the bond between mates selected by the power of Aphrodite.

And yet...

" _Harry..._ "

My eyes snapped open and I swiftly pulled away, throwing myself back into the reality of the moment. I glanced down at Harry, mouth still agape as I stared at him wide-eyed. I waited— for what, I know not— and felt slightly unsettled as all he did was stare back, his gaze almost as deadpanning as my usual one; he could literally give me a run for my money.

After a moment, though, I was struck, yet again, as he gave me a small smile, raising his hand and flicking me across the forehead. Ever so slightly, I stumbled backward, dumbfounded; the flick on the head did not hurt one bit, for it had barely felt like a caress.

_And yet..._

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, right?"

I blinked, startled, for a moment. After, yet, another second ticked by, I felt another droplet slide down my cheek as my lips twitched in another failed attempt to curl upward, my deadpanning eyes softening as I nodded at him.

" _Yes... tomorrow..._ "

I felt my eyes widen one last time as he stepped forward and placed his lips, ever so gently, right upon my cheek along which had slid those little salty droplets.

"Have a good night then, Lilah," he mumbled before turning toward the staircase leading up to the boys' dormitory.

I felt another droplet fall before my lips curled a tad bit as I shoved my hands inside the pockets of my robes, spinning on my heels.

" _Good night... Harry..._ "

Slowly, I made my way up the staircase on the right, uttering a small sigh as I arrived upon a tall oak-wooden door with my name carved ever so elegantly unto it. Grandpa D had told me, weeks ago, he'd arranged for me to have my own room, considering my _monthly_ runs I would _have_ to take. I hadn't taken much notice upon keeping to myself most times, but, apparently, Miss Kathie had relayed that my phasing would take a very hectic turn around _that_ time of the month.

I'm talking about full moons, don't go getting any ideas.

I entered my bedchambers and felt my lips twitching upon noticing Atlas already resting on a perch, sat by one of the two windows in the room which had been left open, before heading over to the large bed in the center of my room. The bed that was nearly as ridiculously large as the one I had in my room at my cottage, covered in red eiderdowns with scarlet red curtains falling from all sides of the four-poster bed. A yellow banner hung on from the large columns by the wall, holding the entire ornate above the bed with the word Gryffindor and what I could only assume was the House mascot imprinted in a mixture of brown and golden.

Located on the right side of the bed were a quaint little nightstand with a wooden chair but feet away from it, and a dresser on the left, a lamp resembling more a lantern than anything placed nicely atop the rather large piece of furniture, two smaller ones clinging to the wooden board of the bed, the board enlarged on either side of the bed, for what reason, I did not know, but I had half a mind of pinning in some hangers or something of the sort; you can never have _too_ many of those.

Across the sleeping quarters were a desk, aligned along the far wall, and a small table sat beside it with a towelette and water pitcher atop it; quite a lot of furniture, if you ask me, but it was spacious enough that none of it was too cluttered. I feel I may be able to keep a cooler somewhere about, or perhaps one of those miniature fridges that are about four feet tall somewhere in the corner...

The room had stone walls and wooden floors, the basis making me reminisce the homey environment my little cottage withheld. I also vaguely noticed there was a box of sorts, lying open atop my trunk, but I had no idea what it was for. Maybe for shoes? I hear there are some for those. I honestly don't see the use of one. Personally, I prefer a shoe rack, because then you can see when a filthy rat is trying to take a bite of them, and you can chase the little booger off.

Aside from my trunk, all other supplies of mine had already been brought up as well. Too tired to do much of anything else, I sought out my favourite curled-up bundle of yellow monstrosity and tossed it aside, unrolling it on the floor beside the bed. I then removed my clothes, and momentarily stared at my half-naked reflection in the body-length in the corner, my eyes watering yet again as they wandered over the old scars littering my small frame. With a trembling breath, I rubbed my forearms and cringed at the feeling of _them_ under my touch.

It's okay, Delilah. You don't have to worry; you won't have to go through any of it _ever again_.

Hopefully...


	15. 6½ - Days In The Sun

**10** **¾ y** **ears ago**

**December 29, 1980**

The gleeful little bundle of joy jumped atop her new bed, her little hands trying to muffle her giggles as she entertained herself, doing just as she had been told not to do. Suddenly, her door swung open, and she instantly flopped back onto her bed, fighting back a smile in an attempt to look innocent.

"He'woh!" she chirped, sliding locks of curls between her lips to hide her growing smile.

The familiar golden-eyed woman crept into the room, eyes narrowed playfully, arms crossing over her chest. "Were you jumping up and down the bed, young lady?"

"Who, me?"

The woman pursed her lips in an attempt to hide her own smile as she advanced toward the little girl. "The truth now, little one, or I may just have to tickle it out of you," she warned, wiggling her fingers at her.

The little girl squealed, scrambling in the bed to hide herself under her covers. "Noooo," she drawled.

The woman snorted; _yeah, 'cause that's very convincing_. Kneeling down by the bedside, the woman playfully narrowed her eyes at the little girl. "Are you lying to me, Missy?"

The girl giggled. "Dat dippins!"

The woman lifted a brow, amused. "Oh, really? And what does "dat dippin" on?"

"On what... what wyin' means to you!"

The woman chuckled. "It means to not tell the truth. What does it mean to you?"

"Dis!" The girl cheekily motioned to her small form lain sprawled on the bed.

The woman deadpanned. Finding her expression amusing, the little girl sat up and pushed herself until her face was inches from the woman's before mirroring the look on your face. The pair remained as such for a second longer before the woman cracked at the little girl's adorable giggle as the latter leant forward and gave her a sloppy kiss.

Smiling fondly at the little girl, the woman reached a hand up and caressed her cheek. "Now, no more jumping, okay? I can't keep coming back in here all night, _parvus dahliae_ ; I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow, and you have to go to sleep too— your training with your brothers starts tomorrow."

The little one pouted, crossing her small arms over her chest. "But I don' wanna," she mumbled, sinking deeper into her bed.

"I know, sweetling, but you gotta learn," the woman uttered softly as she tucked her in and leant forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "Now off to sleep. Goodnight."

Pout still on her lips, the little girl's saddened eyes lifted to the ceiling. "Goose nice..." she mumbled, averting her gaze back to the woman's retreating form.

Suddenly, she felt her stomach drop when the room succumbed to utter darkness. She lingered for a second before she pushed herself up and crawled to the foot of her bed, tipping over as she looked into the lulling, frightening darkness awaiting under her bed.

"Whoa," she gasped, startled back unto her bum.

The light switched back on, revealing the worried face of the woman who nearly always looked after her. "Is something wrong, hun?"

"I want my cwib!"

The woman chuckled and walked back into the room. "Del, cribs are for babies."

"I am a baby!"

"I thought you were a big girl."

"A gwowin' girl! Di.ffe.went!"

The woman laughed as the girl jumped off her bed and ran into her arms. "Alright, alright. Let's see what we can do. Hmm... did you break it in already?"

The girl's eyes widened. "I have to bweak it? But iss new!!"

She laughed again. "Not break it. Break it in. Get the feel of it."

"But I did dat awweady!"

"Then there shouldn't be any reason for you to not sleep like a baby," the woman replied, setting the girl back unto her bed and tucking her in once more. "I know it's a big change, but you'll get used to it. Now, sleep tight, little one."

The woman stood and made her way toward the exit, but stopped once more when the little girl called after her. "Auntie An?"

"What's up, kid?"

"The c-wing."

"I know that; I can touch it when I stand up."

"The sky?"

"That, I can't touch."

"Auntie An?"

Sigh. "Lay it on me, kiddo."

"Awe you weaving me?"

The woman blinked, startled by the question. "Aw, no, I wouldn't leave you on your first night in your new bed."

That was not what the little girl had meant, and they both knew it.

"I... was just gonna turn off the lights." And she did. "And find a good book." And she did, grabbing the first one she could get her hands on before subconsciously turning off the lamp by the night table. "And... read it... in the dark."

She awkwardly angled herself as best as she could as she sat down and settled on the floor beside the small bed.

"Thank you," the little girl mumbled.

The woman waved her off. "Don't worry about it, kid, I've been meaning to catch up on..." She flipped the book open and stared blandly at the pages that greeted her. "... the bunny, the duckie, the turtle and the frog."

And girl reached a hand from under her blanket and brushed her tiny fingers against the woman's cheek, eyeing her affectionately as she caressed it just as the woman would often do to hers.

"How do I know dat's tchue?"

Her lips parted. "That what's true, hon?"

"Dat you won' weave me."

Her lips parted once more, startled by the question. She pondered, feeling a bit uneasy and saddened with guilt, but she pulled through as she finally found the right words.

"Because... you and I..." She glanced down and smiled gently at the girl. "We're a pack, and... Pack is family, and family is forever."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you may not always see me around, and... one day you may just forget me... but I'll always be watching over you."

The little frowned slightly. "I won' fowged you."

The woman gave her the smallest of smiles. "Of course."

"I wove you," she insisted, an uncharacteristically sweet tenderness in the girl's tone.

The woman instantly turned back to look at the little one, the book left forgotten on the ground.

"... I love you too, sweet one."

"Can you sing me a song? Pwease?"

"And you promise to go to sleep after?"

"You got it, dude."

The woman bit back a smile. "Del..."

"Fine." The girl smiled cutely, holding out her little pinky. "I pwomise."

Curling her larger finger around the girl's, the woman smiled, brushing the girl's curls away from her face as she stood and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the little one curl up against her.

" _Days in the sun, when your life has barely begun, not until my own time is done... will I ever leave you._ "

Her gaze softened, her fingers brushing through the familiar curls as she sang the child to sleep, her touch lingering as her eyes welled with unshed tears.

" _These days will end fast... far too perfect and peaceful to last. But those days in the sun will, someday, come... shining through._ "

The little one nuzzled against her touch, smiling slightly in her sleep.

" _Yes, those days in the sun will come shining through..._ "

She leant down and pressed one last kiss atop the girl's head, a mixture of a gold- and purple-coloured glow whisked up from the gentle contact, blasting into the air in the shape of an enormous dahlia flower right above the pair before bursting apart, raining down like pixie dust, blanketing the small figure sleeping soundly on the bed. One single tear slipping from the woman's eyes, she carefully began to pull herself away from the latter's hold; those shifters really had a strong grip, even when unconscious...

"I love you, _mae parvus dahliae_."

Quietly, she began to make her way out of the darkened room when she stopped one last time, brows furrowing slightly, for a moment, as she heard the little one mumble her reply in her sleep, bringing a small, amused smile to her lips.

"I wove you, cheese head..."

"Did she just call you cheese head?"

Her smile was quick to fade as she heard the new unfamiliar voice, swiftly exiting the room and closing it behind her as quietly as possible before turning to stare down at the small figure awaiting her presence.

"What are you doing here?!"

Said figure shrugged a shoulder, shoving his hands into the pockets of the adorable little suit he wore. "I got your message, so I tracked you down and stopped by as you told me."

"I told you to stop by when you looked old enough that no one would suspect me kidnapping and experimenting on you!"

The small person snorted at her exaggeration as the pair of them began to make their way out of the warm building. "No one's going to think that."

She scoffed a laugh. "Gee, I wonder who wouldn't think a woman who loves looking after children would want one of her own, and try to steal one to get one," she retorted sarcastically. "Erm, have you forgotten where we've _been_?"

He scoffed. "Have you forgotten where we _are_?"

"Have _you_?" she retorted as the pair of them made their way to the edge of the villa. "Anyone could hear us with their... freaky, supersonic hearing."

"... isn't that a little excessive?"

"Maybe, but I've already made them that way, so it's too late for a change now."

The male sighed, running a small hand through his tiny locks. "Why are _you_ here, A?"

She sighed in turn. "I wasn't supposed to be."

"Obviously," he muttered, earning himself a glare from her part.

" _But_ , I got too involved. I tried to look out from afar, but too many things were jumping out."

The small figure, looking like a child no older than three years of age, glanced up at the woman as they passed the borders of the villa and stepped onto the bridge leading the way out of it, his brows furrowing in utter confusion at her lack of further explanation.

"What. Do. You. Mean?" he pressed, crossing his arms over her chest.

Biting her lower lip, hesitated momentarily before relenting. "I... I got personally involved when I shouldn't have, and now the ink is no longer dry, Rek. It's spilling... all over the place. The little one nearly died whilst being birthed, and again after, when she wasn't meant to. At least not for a long time."

"Dammit, A! Always giving me crap about meddling, and what did you do?"

Sigh. "I meddled."

"You meddled!" he hissed, glaring up at the woman before sighing in defeat. "I guess it was bound to happen, one way or another. Whether we tried to or not. Even _Watchers_ can't stick to the wall forever. Tell me you at least have a way to fix this stain."

She grimaced. "Don't call it that," she grumbled. "This is not entirely bad. Sure, there were a few things we could've easily gone without, but these changes have only made certain people stronger. It's a good thing... at least, for their battles. Whatever change has happened in the past will benefit what's to come. The bumps along the way might be a little more damaging, but the end result will be the same, if not better."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely not," she deadpanned. "I'd ask an Oracle, but I'd probably only get a prophecy for myself, and I sure as hell don't need that again. I've got the little Petrova helping me out in the meantime, along with a few other connections."

His brows shot up to his hairline at the mention of the familiar surname. "Petrova? But Den hasn't had... she's not even _here_..." His eyes suddenly widened with realization. "You don't mean..."

Biting her lower lip, she gave him a sheepish look as she nodded.

"Dammit, A!"

"It's just a little expansion," she quickly retorted, her tone reflexively rising up in octave in defence. "It's good for the Net."

"It's a whole other universe!"

"..."

"Please tell me it's only one."

" _This_ is only one universe."

"A..."

"It was in one of my original drafts, okay?" she said, sounding rather defensive at the warning and slightly accusatory look he was sending her. "I had discarded it, but living in it is something else entirely than just reading about it. You can read one story, but there will always be another one in between the lines. My final product only had the references, but it's not all paper anymore, Rek, it's real. And I need your help to ensure that small spill doesn't turn into a flood."

He sighed. "Fine, what do you need?" he asked as they came to a stop.

Wordlessly, the woman stepped closer whilst retrieving an inconspicuous little bag from her hip, pulling it open by the little rope tying it close. A faint glow momentarily shone from within before she reached her hand all the way inside, followed by her forearm and elbow before she finally pulled out, hauling a rather large leather booklet out of the bag.

"This withholds very important information, it's not so revelatory that it could put this world in peril, but it's enough that someone like _us_ will understand it— enough to catch them up and the... mishap," she informed him, holding the booklet out for him to take. "I'll be needing it when the time comes."

He gave her an odd look. "Then why don't you just keep it."

"Because _I_ won't be needing it. I wrote it, so I don't exactly need the reminder."

"Then what do you—" He cut himself short as his eyes widened with realization. "You don't mean..."

She did not reply.

"A, you're talking time paradox crap, here. That shouldn't be possible!"

"And yet here we are, me barely looking a few years into my twenties despite the _ages_ I've lived, and you..." Her golden eyes looked him over, faint amusement flickering in her gaze. "... looking like a very adorable three-year-old. Or is it two-year-old? I'm always a little off in my guesses," she uttered teasingly.

He glared up at her, snatching the book from her hands. "Not funny. Do you have any idea what it's like to be unable to do anything but shit yourself and cry about it so someone else can stare at your privates and laugh about it while changing you?!"

To further his embarrassment, the thing was heavy— not that he'd tell her.

"Ugh, yeah," she deadpanned. He grumbled, and she sighed, "I'll need you to give it to m... to _her_ , when the time comes."

He scoffed. "And when is that, in three billion years?"

She sighed once more, giving him a saddened look. "Rek... the time we spend apart... _how long_ we spend apart, you know that's not my choice."

"Doesn't make the taste any less bitter," he huffed, averting his gaze as the two finished crossing the bridge and stopped right at the entrance of the woods.

Gaze dropping to the ground, the woman remained silent for a moment before lifting her gaze to the sky, the corner of her lips lifting as well, ever so slightly, as she caught sight of the starlit sky.

"Just endure a little longer," she uttered softly. "Who knows, maybe in the next we'll be married again, but for much longer past the honeymoon than the last time... or the time before that... or the time before _that_..."

He huffed but smiled slightly as well. "Let's get married now."

She chuckled and shook her head. "I am not marrying a one-year-old."

"Okay, I know you suck at guessing trivial things, but now you're just pulling my leg," he deadpanned. "And I'll have you know, it's two years, one month, and seventeen days... and I'm not really helping my case, am I?"

She laughed. "Don't worry," she cooed, kneeling down to press her lips against his cheek. "I'll love you anyway, no matter what."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, though the corners of his lips lifted into a small smile. "I love you too... _cheese head_."

With a small, fond smile of her own, she stood back up and stepped away, her body twisting to face a left path hidden from sight to those with no enhanced sight.

"In the meantime, look after them."

"Oh, so it's "them" now?"

She gave him a sheepish grin. "It always was. After all, they're meant to be."

"You do know I can't very much hang around until they get _there_ , though."

"I know."

He sighed. "Then I'll try my best, until then."

She inclined her head ever so slightly, a grateful look crossing her dark features as she began to back away into the darkness of the bushes and tall trees.

"That's all I ask," she said gratefully. "See you in a few years, my little moon."

He lifted one hand with a small wave, the other clutching at the journal she left him, watching as she swiftly and almost soundless disappeared into the darkness of the night, gazing up at the starlit sky, the moon shining among them, before he, too, turned to leave, sparing one last glance over his shoulder.

"See you in a few... my little star."

**Present**

**September 1, 1991**

"A few years, my ass," the third-year student grumbled under his breath.

He grumpily pushed past the crowd of boisterous people, face void of emotion, successfully hiding the irritation he felt at the loud voices cruising about, right outside on the platform as well, loosening his tie patterned with blue and silver stripes.

"Oi, Egypt!"

He rolled his eyes; she really ought to stop calling him that...

"Come see Lee's tarantula!"

He glanced over his shoulder at the familiar purple-eyed brunette, not bothering to hide the irritation he usually felt in her presence.

"No thanks, not interested," he retorted blandly.

His obvious lack of interest and blunt retort had prompted a pout from the girl, though he chose to ignore it as he finally made it past the large mass of people and onto the train. He had boarded the train past its middle, just a few wagons away from the rear of the large, interconnected locomotive, that part of him had expected to bump into the infamous Boy Who Lived.

He snorted to himself; honestly, those babies are given far too much credit...

In the end, it came to him as a bit of a surprise when a small, thin figure with a mop of curly dark hair stumbled in front of him and nearly fell on their face before his hand shot forward and effortlessly caught them by the elbow, holding them upright. He had to be honest, this girl was the last person he expected to bump into.

A certain bushy-haired know-it-all? Maybe. A poor, forgetful boy who constantly looked to be on the verge of tears or pissing himself... or both? Nah, he'd already seen the poor boy getting an earful from his grandmother before he'd boarded the train. Those nosy little redheads? Definitely.

The infamous witchy hybrid who had clearly been smitten with his companion as a babe?

Hell no. Having still a few memories from what she was originally made out to be, he would have thought she would be trying her very best to avoid anyone... anywhere, wandering quietly down the corridors with the grace of a sneaky wolf.

Instead, here she was, openly stumbling over her own feet, struggling with her effects, despite the immense strength he knew her to possess. Gazing down at the almost pitiful sight before him, he spoke up, unable to stop himself.

"Watch your step."

 _Look after them_ , she'd asked him. And here he is, bluntly telling her to watch her step. Yeah, good job, buddy. Oh, and now she's staring at him. What for, he didn't know. She was never one to openly scrutinize somebody, lest of all, admire— as she was now doing, gazing into his eyes almost dazedly, the interest lighting a faint spark in her pretty eyes, a second-long glimmer of recognition flashing through them.

He found this odd. Why would she feel any sort of recognition toward him? They'd never actually even met. His eyes... maybe they reminded her of A; that should be impossible, though. She had blocked any memory of her that last night; she shouldn't be able to remember anything until A, herself, removed the blockage. Fighting back a frown, he leant forward ever so slightly, it was barely noticeable, levelling his gaze with hers.

He quietly asked her if she was okay, but she remained rooted in place, just blinking and staring, face void of emotion. _Now I get why the other kids find it unnerving when I do that..._ Getting the feeling she'd be better alone, for the moment, at least so she could gather her thoughts before her big meet, he motioned down the hall with one hand, telling her it was the best place to relocate herself if she preferred to be alone for now.

Again, however, she did not respond. He found it almost humorous how she was behaving so unlike herself, openly staring at him, mouth agape and, seemingly, slightly dumbfounded, though his own reaction wasn't much better as he stared back, blankly, face reflexively deadpanning as he repeated himself once more and, still, got no other reaction.

They stared at each other a moment longer, completely ignoring the others pushing through and past them, before he noticed her suddenly relaxing her tense stance the instant his lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly into a barely noticeable smile— if you could call it that— filled with amusement.

"The cabin down the hall," he said again.

She blinked and just stared again, almost prompting a sigh from him, though he relaxed slightly when he noticed the very faint acknowledgment in her eyes.

"The cabin down the hall," he repeated, finally letting go of her elbow upon recalling he'd still been holding it. "It's empty and has less of a chance to be constantly bothered."

She blinked yet again, and stared for a second longer before she finally inclined her head to one side in a mute act of acknowledgment and gratitude, it seems. Inclining his own head, he spun on his heels, and, without another word or even an attempt at an introduction, he quietly walked away in the opposite direction.

He didn't need to lead guide her anywhere for now. After all, she's Delilah. A Hawkins by name, but a Dawn by heart. That witchy little hybrid could do anything she puts her mind to it.

... hopefully, A didn't have _too_ much of an influence on her.

Gods know, the world could do without a _lazy_ or _listless_ chosen protector...


	16. 7 - Listlessness is my pride and... yeah, that's pretty much it

****September 2, 1991** **

_"You little brat,_ _"_ _he growled as he gradually advanced toward me._ _"_ _You filthy piece of trash, why don't you understand? There. Is. No. Escape._ _"_

 _There was a final punctuation after each word— short and on point, just like every other thing he ever said. Always an emphasis to his words to pull his point across. It seems I was too stubborn, however, to stay put as he wished; every time he came, the second I heard him, smelled him—saw the killing intent in his eyes, I just_ had to _get away._

 _"_ _You're not getting away, so come back here so I can finish with you," he said, anger in his voice._

_Breathing heavily, I looked down, again, at my upper arms and saw the scars that I have sustained through the years I had spent here and had to go through the same torture, over and over again. My breathing hitched as he came nearer again and held me by my waist._

_"_ NO!! PLEASE!! _"_

 _I wanted to shout, but my lips wouldn't move. I wanted to start screaming but I knew that no one would come for me nor hear me because this room was just so conveniently soundproof. If_ _Alessia_ _and Annabelle came earlier just in time before Axel went any further, it was but a mere coincidence. But now, it was as he said;_ there is no—

~ ♦ ~

" _Delilah!!_ "

My eyes snapped open as I jolted from the bed— when did I get on the bed? Didn't I fall asleep in my sleeping bag?— startled awake by the vividness that came with my tormenting dreams. I glanced down momentarily and deadpanned when I found I was in my sleeping bag, on the bed, the bag zipped up to my neck. Reaching up from the inside, I caught the flick of the zipper and pulled it down, releasing myself from my warm cocoon with a sigh; I didn't always have the same nightmare at night but, admittedly so, I hadn't had a good one since before _Anima Curatoria_ had been destroyed.

It also didn't help that it had been exactly eight days since the last full moon had passed.

Usually, this time around, a few days before and after, would be when my nightmares would be most vivid, as had been ever since the first time I had phased. The full moon was a time all wolf skin-wearers were forced to change into their animal form, a curse cast by one of the first Wiccan wielders after one had forced himself on his other half. I admit, though _just_ , it was a cruel act of vengeance, one I am now to suffer after that blasted Adams boy marked me all those years ago before I'd finally chased after my freedom.

Though the magic behind the mating bond had dissipated as soon as I'd run, the scar that resulted from his bite remained to this day, along with the after-affect of what was meant to turn me into one of them.

I shuddered at the thought of becoming a wolf skin-wearer, clutching my knees to my chest in disgust, my hand absentmindedly reaching up to my clavicle, where lay, underneath of sheer layer of clothing, the mark he left on me. I could only lay back down and curl in on myself more upon recalling everything they'd done to me— everything they'd _taken_ from me.

I blinked upon feeling the sudden presence of a certain bundle of snow-white feathers land before me, pecking at my arm. I blinked yet again upon feeling something trickle down my nose, pressing Atlas to squawk loudly, alarmed.

" _Lilah?!_ "

I sat back up, reaching a hand up just in time to catch the red droplets spilling into the palm of my hand.

" _... oh._ "

Atlas screeched, pecking his beak hard against my thigh. " _Don't just "oh," you idiot! Go grab a handkerchief and wipe that nose; better yet, go take a cool bath to lower your body temperature— you're blazing hot! And that's coming from_ me _!_ "

I contemplated getting up, for a moment, then plopped back onto the marshmallow of a bed I had, emitting an alarmingly loud whine out of utter laziness.

" _But it is just so far awaaay!_ "

The phoenix blinked, almost deadpanning; wow, I am a bad influence... " _It's literally around the corner, just one flight down, past the staircase to the boys' dormitory._ "

" _But... is it worth the effort?_ "

" _Don't make me get Big D._ "

" _... ugh, I should just cook you on my stomach._ "

" _... with that heat, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you could do that, but that's not exactly something I want to find out, so... bye!_ "

With a flutter of his wings, Atlas lifted off my bed and out through my open window. I glanced off after him and noticed it was still rather dark outside. Waiting, indecisively for another few minutes, on my bed, I uttered a sigh in resignation as I pushed myself from my bed, reaching for a tissue from atop the nightstand beside the bed, pressing it to my dripping nose as I finally pushed myself onto my feet. Padding barefoot toward the window, I noticed it was barely blue hour, yet to be dawn, though my stomach was grumbling already, even if it had been less than eight hours or so since I'd last eaten. It didn't bother me as much, considering I'd spent much longer without eating in the past, but the constant grumbling was getting on my nerves.

Glancing out through the window, I noticed my bedroom, or rather the Gryffindor girls' dormitory was situated right under the nose of a pendulum clock mechanism I'd known was on the sixth floor, just one flight above us, in our corner. I could hear it very clearly from my room, even though others would only be able to hear its bell tolls; despite falling asleep almost instantly, last night, its ticking sound was ringing in my ears, echoing loudly in the back of my mind like those annoying little toy monkeys clashing their cymbals while marching.

With a shake of my head and a small sigh, I wiped my nose and pulled the tissue away, counting numbers in my head until I was sure no more would randomly come trickling down before throwing the stained tissue into the empty bin on the other side of the nightstand on my way over to the foot of my bed.

Opening my trunk, I ruffled a bit through my wardrobe and grimaced upon one of those one-legged garments being the first thing I'd pulled up, and shuddered; the day I'd gone to Diagon Alley, all those months ago, I'd only gone to some Madam— whose name I can't recall for the life of me—'s robe shop to be measured, while Grandpa D went back at a later date to pick up the entirety of my uniforms I'd let him order for me. I hadn't once looked at any of it but spared a mere second-long glance when I'd gone to change in the train and had merely grabbed my robe and dress-shirt, for I'd been far too lazy to put any effort and changing into my whole new uniform.

Either way, it wasn't like anyone was going to pull at my robes to see what I'm wearing underneath... right?

Opting for a similarly comfortable wear to the previous day, I donned my long-sleeved dress-shirt and sweater-vest, along with a pair of black denim trousers that did not cling to my legs, for any other that would I found just too uncomfortable, especially with my scars; the fabric constantly rubbing against my skin was quite a bother; maybe I should get myself some floor-length one-legged garments...

Finally, over the lot of it, I shrugged on my House robes and after many futile attempts at tying that stupid neck-wrap thing we're meant to wear, I left it as I slid it on, lying loosely around my neck like those fur scarves that Cruella woman wore in that film with one-hundred and something dogs... wait, _was_ it a scarf? Anyway, needless to say, I was not going to bother myself over such a hassle.

When I'd finished changing into my clothes, I walked over to the other window and drew the curtains open, tilting my head to the side upon dropping my gaze to the grounds below where I noticed was an empty courtyard. It was a nice structure, with a small, ancient-looking but well-maintained water fountain right in its center. There were a few odd little trees here and about, but I found there weren't enough to my liking.

Tiredly, I dragged my feet across the red Gryffindor carpet on the floor, muffling a yawn as I closed the distance between myself and the desk a few ways away from the window and grabbed the sheets of parchment settled atop it, trying to recall whether they'd been there when I'd come up to sleep. One of the sheets was my schedule, and I made a quick mental note of what books to grab for my first two periods before looking over the second page, deadpanning as soon as I read through its content.

A few weeks ago, when Grandpa D had come to tell me that "the boy who lived" had decided to attend Hog of Warts as well, I'd asked him if he could spare me a map of sorts so I wouldn't get lost in this gods-forsaken place if it ever turned out that it wasn't as safe as he claimed it to be.

He gave me a _list_. A _list_ that says where this place and that place is, but not how to get there. Where's the logic in that? And what kind of schedule was this? Did they have a five-year-old try to create a maze out of it?

Uttering a small sigh through my nose, I went over to my bag by my trunk on the floor and reached inside, fumbling about in search of a pen or a pencil, for there was no way I would waste my time with a stupid feather and ink-pot and wait for the darn sheet to dry after I'd finish writing on it. Honestly, how do these Adepts even manage to go about with that stuff?

When I found a pen, I went back over to the desk and pulled open one of its drawers in search of a piece of parchment, finding one in the first drawer. For a moment, I glanced over at the desk, and then dropped my gaze to the ground, shifting my eyes back and forth for a moment before decisively settling on the carpeted floor with my blank piece of _paper_ , my _pen_ — because, let's face it, who the heck writes with parchments and quills?— and my schedule, where I would spend the next dozen to thirty minutes re-transcribing the stupid thing in a much more comprehensible way.

Classes went from Monday through Friday, with only four periods a day, two being before lunchtime, and two after. The only exceptions fell on Wednesdays when we would have five classes rather than the usual four, Astronomy being the fifth to take place at midnight in the Astronomy Tower... wherever the heck that was, and on Friday afternoons we would have Double Potions class.

This morning at nine o'clock sharp, I'm meant to have my first Defence Against the Dark Arts— ugh, what a mouthful— with Professor Qwi... Qui... Professor _Squirrel_. I'd probably look forward to it if the teacher wasn't as much of an unsettling, stuttering wreck because... well, _I_ 'm an unsettling wreck, albeit mute rather than stuttering, so the teaching and learning between us just... wouldn't work.

And he _smelled_ suspicious... and I'm not just talking about that garlic thing he's got going for him... honestly, it's not really going.

After Defence... after _DADA_ , first-year Gryffindors were scheduled to have the first Flying lesson of the term, though apparently Mondays were only theoretical lessons, while Thursday afternoons were when we would be practicing above ground with the school-issued brooms. Frankly, though I've yet to begin even my first lesson, I already wanted to finish with school; I wasn't at all motivated to endure the next few years of what Miss Kathie once blatantly labelled as the awkward stages of our lives.

First, however, off to fill this stomach of mine! Maybe after, I'll be able to take a long enough nap before class...

Grabbing my needed supplies for my first two classes of the day, I emptied the rest of the contents of my school-bag onto my bed before refilling it with the required things for DADA and Flying class. As I went to grab my wand as well, a thump softened by the carpet on the floor caught my attention, and I instantly shifted my eyes to the source of the noise.

It was _the_ box.

I grabbed it from the ground and held it, for a moment, brows furrowed as the temptation to open it got to me, but the memories pertaining to this momentum got to me harder, ensuing me to push back such allure, heading back over to my desk and putting it away within the far back of the second drawer on the left. My eyes remained glued, for a moment, as I then thought I should better lock it, but I had no key that belonged to the lock of the drawer.

Perhaps a spell would do... but I didn't have Charms until this afternoon; I didn't feel like going through the hassle right now until absolutely necessary.

Besides, it's not like anyone is allowed to enter my room; Grandpa D had told me all rooms were charmed to keep people out until given permission to enter, so I didn't have to worry about anyone trying their way in here to steal my personal stuff.

So... off to find food!

Sliding on my shoes, I gave myself one last glance in the body-length mirror and felt my brows furrow at the length and messiness of my hair, but shrugged to myself, far too uncaring to do anything about it. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my trusty whiteboard and black marker and made my way out the door, down the spiral staircase and out through the portrait of the Fat Lady... I should probably ask for her name someday— it's rude just calling her "Fat Lady"; for now, though, I contented myself with waving at her, earning a bit of a smile from the rather stoic woman, despite her own apparent fatigue.

I took in my surroundings as I quietly and leisurely made my way down the long, narrow corridors, my eyes almost unblinking as I gazed around me in awe. A few of the things I retained from that school's history book were little odd facts about the establishment and anything revolving around its architecture; there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hog of Warts. There were wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a few odd days; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely— _obviously,_ I would avoid _those_ — or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.

Though fascinating as I found anything pertaining to architecture as a whole, the effort behind remembering any of it was still _so draining_ — again, I'm just being lazy but it's not like I haven't earned it, so don't judge me. It was a good thing I have of a good memory... somewhat... _sometimes_...

Before long, I'd reached the large doors leading to the Great Hall without even realizing it. A disturbingly high-pitched sound akin to a screech then caught my attention and I turned swiftly, blinking and deadpanning when I'd noticed one of the empty knights' armours standing tall by the door had turned its head to stare down at me with eyes it did not have. Unfazed, I lifted my board upon which I had absentmindedly scrawled a little retort.

_It is early and I am hungry— do not judge me, tin man._

The eyeless stare remained upon me for a moment longer before the screeching sound rang in my ears, yet again, as the knight turned to glance back ahead of him.

That's what I thought.

With a bit of force, I pushed at one of the doors with both hands, only slightly ajar enough for me to peek my head in and felt my lip jutting out in disappointment; no plates or food. Then again, it's not even dawn yet and, therefore, those who prepare the food are probably not even awake just yet.

The smell of food did, however, catch my attention and, in my confusion and curiosity, I followed it all the way down a floor below. The delicious scent had dragged me down into a broad stone basement corridor, brightly lit and decorated with food-themed paintings.

The large corridor separated into two pathways; on the right-hand side of it were barrels among barrels, stacked against the wall right in a nook on that side. On the left, however, right where my trail came to a stop, was an enormous portrait of a gigantic silver fruit bowl. I felt my brows twitch and my lips tremble slightly as I sadly gazed upon the very realistic picture of the delicious fruit, subconsciously lifting a hand up and ever so softly trailing my fingers across the imaginary fruit, my mouth watering over thoughts of the sweet and delicious taste of that beauty of a green pear my fingers were trickling over as I starved myself further.

Suddenly, a giggle erupted out of nowhere, and I jumped back, startled, even more so when I noticed the source of the giggle was the image of the pear itself. I felt my eyes widen as said fruit turned into a large green door handle and, unable to keep my curious self under ropes, I reached forward and pulled at the handle, opening the peculiarly hidden door to the unknown. I was hesitant for a second, but when the smell of fresh food all but slapped me across the face, I threw my doubt over my shoulder and followed the yellow brick road to the heavens.

I was startled, yet again, upon discovering this hidden door leading to a ridiculously enormous room I could recognize to be a kitchen, but not entirely surprised; I mean, I _did_ get here by following the smell of food. Speaking of which...

I glanced around the gigantic room, taking in its rather glorious construct for that of a kitchen; it was a high-ceilinged room with five tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall above, all in the exact same position, I noticed. There were large quantities of pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and a large brick fireplace at the other end of the hall from the door.

"Oh! It's Miss Dawn!"

"Miss Dawn?"

"So long, it's been, yes it has!"

I blinked, startled upon being addressed by the familiar yet long underused name. None of my family ever really used it, from what little I could recall, so hearing it all of a sudden as such gave me a bit of a whiplash.

"Thasss not Misss Ella, you dollopsss!!"

I blinked, startled by, yet, another verbal whiplash. What is going on— what are these... creatures?

My lips parted in utter bafflement as I was surrounded by four little bundles of skin and bones about two or three feet tall, with spindly arms and legs, and oversized heads and eyes. They had pointed, bat-like ears, and each spoke with different octaves of high, squeaky voices. Also, they each wore something akin to a pillowcase or tea-towel— couldn't really tell— rather than conventional clothing.

Odd.

I had a brain fart as I stared at those little things, utterly dumbfounded, and all but threw out the window my desire to keep quiet my ability to speak telepathically as I all but blurted, in that instant, the only thing I could wonder at the mere sight of them.

"What _are you?_ "

One of the little creatures stepped forward and smiled proudly up at me.

Odd.

"Weeesss houssse-elves, Missss!"

... house-elves? How... odd.

Another one— _house-elf_ — stepped forward and reached up, tugging softly at my robes. "Come, Miss, follow Deesey; Deesey shall lead you to a table. Miss must be hungry if Miss awake so early! Miss Ella was often the same."

I noticed they seemed rather unbothered by the fact I did not speak aloud but rather through my mind. It also tickled me curious how closely acquainted they seemed to have been with my mother, though they seemed to keep no track of time whatsoever if they would easily confuse me for her; she wouldn't have been so old today, but she wouldn't have looked so young, either, to be confused for an eleven-year-old.

I hesitated momentarily in the face of the unknown, but the second my stomach gave a rather guttural growl, I resisted no further and let the elf— Dizzy? No, it was more like D _ee_ sey...— lead me to the Gryffindors' table counterpart. As Deesey lingered to make sure I was comfortable where I sat, another one— Libly, I was told her name was... or rather she kind of indirectly told me? I don't know, they refer to themselves in the third person...— took my bag and placed it in a corner so, I guess, it wasn't in my way.

While those two seemingly fawned and doted on me, the other two— Filly and Ponsy (the one with the odd habit of elongating his 's's whenever he spoke)— scrambled about to get me something to eat. As I gazed around me for a moment longer, it took me a bit more to realize all the food prepared daily for the students and teachers— day and night— it was all these bat-looking elves that did it.

Now, I did not know if they looked like a pile of skin and bones reattached by nature, so small and frail, but this struck me far deep into my core as I jolted to my feet in response.

"Miss Dawn!" Libly exclaimed herself, worry lacing her high-pitched voice.

I shook my head and backed away from them; I hadn't bothered to learn much about this place in my own time, but... was it possible there were secrets darker than that blasted _Stone_ hidden within this castle? Was it possible these little creatures were... enslaved, much like I had still been not so long ago?

Power was a dangerous feat some tended to take for granted; those with most of it would sometimes abuse it while, blindly, letting it lead them to their ruin. Grand— _Dumbo_ was headmaster of this place. I hadn't known him long, but surely he wouldn't be so wretched as to have them enslaved now, would he? It was a hard thing to determine, especially when the whole lot of them wore nearly nothing more than some sort of towelette for clothing and scrambled about barefooted.

"I see you've found the kitchens, Delilah."

I spun on my heels, startled upon suddenly hearing that familiar voice of our elder headmaster. The man in question gave me one of those wistful smiles of his before going to settle at the kitchen's replica of the Gryffindor table himself, baffling me even further.

"Would you fancy a warm beverage?" he asked, smiling and nodding his greeting to the elves scrambling about to serve him food.

I gave him a pointed look, crossing my arms over my chest. It didn't take a mind reader to know the demanding inquiry behind my eyes, especially not in an environment as such. Besides, though I had a rather selective pay of mind and a slightly short attention span, I wasn't one to be easily swayed by something else when I was dead-set on something.

The man smiled yet again as a ridiculously large mug— one you'd be sure to find in Hagrid, the half giant's home— was placed before him, and another where I'd previously sat, along with a plate-full of a rather delicious-looking dessert. There were eggs, and sausages, and bacon, and a crepe, and a little bowl of fruits cut into little cubes, and—

"Perhaps a mug of hot chocolate."

Damn it all to the deepest pits of Tartarus.

Slowly, I inched my way back to the table, finally settling across the old man. My gaze momentarily wandered down to the mouth-watering sight awaiting to be devoured, and the smell that all but defined deliciousness wafting from the mug sat left of the plate, but I quickly shifted my eyes back to those crystalline blue-orbs twinkling behind a pair of half-mooned spectacles, my own flattening yet again into a pointed stare.

He chuckled. "Worry not, child, for they are all here voluntarily."

I blinked, surprised by this answer.

"Though it is true that many are under... a certain sort of employ among the wizarding community, many of those who have found themselves without a master have enlisted to work here, from the preparations of the food we all eat to the cleaning—"

" _Basically, they are indentured servants, with no actual debt to be paid whatsoever,_ " I deadpanned with narrowed eyes.

He was silent for a moment before uttering a small sigh. "House-elves _are_ known to be magical creatures bound to their owners as servants until either notice."

" _Still servants, though. I do not know about you, but all I hear is the equivalence of servitude for life, that being_ slavery _._ "

"However, not to those before us. Though they have all but been birthed to serve a wizard and its lineage, most are rarely ever well looked after. Madam Hufflepuff, personally, saw to change that and created this employ at Hogwarts for them to work here, shall they wish to do so. Look at it this way, what is a knight worthy of its title without someone to protect?"

As much as it bothered me to admit it, he _did_ have a point. I was still rather skeptical and hesitant to take his word for it, but upon seeing the rather happy looks on the faces of the odd little creatures surrounding me, even upon those gradually filing into the kitchens to begin their first jobs for the day, seemed to ease me to a certain degree that I was able to relax a tad bit in the rather pleasant presence of our Headmaster and boldly dig into my plate upon Deesey and Libly's persistent insistence.

I must say, I've never eaten as much as I had that morning, but at that moment, as I savoured the maply taste added to my eggs, bacon, and crepe, the sweet warm taste filtering down my throat from the deliciousness that was hot chocolate, I felt like I was in the Fields of Elysium. After I finished, however, it felt like having been called back by the three judges and being told by them that they had made a mistake and so my reward was exchanged for the tiresome plain-ish that was the Asphodel Fields as I was overcome by a sudden heaviness and fatigue I had never before felt.

Having finished his meal before me, Grandpa D had left before me after a pleasant farewell and wishing me luck on my first day, and so, when I was finished with my own plate, I found myself making my way out of the kitchens, ever so sluggishly, waving ever so awkwardly at the bombs of joy that those little elves looked to be.

After making it back to the ground-floor, way past the Great Hall, I debated going near the Dark Forest, even though it was still very early and students had yet to awaken; from the open-air courtyard just past the Hall, I could see the sky brightening with a tinge of an orange hue, but the sun was yet not visible, so I knew it was only _just_ dawn.

I still had another four hours or so to spend, so I decided to resume my roaming around the main floor, wandering corridor upon corridor until I made it to the Fountain Courtyard. Honestly, I had no idea how I'd gotten there, and I wasn't sure I would remember how to go back to the Gryffindor Tower, even less to my classes, but the moment my gaze settled upon a very comfortable looking tree by the fountain, fighting the urge to shift into my fox form or rush back to fetch my yellow monstrosity of a cocoon, I slung my bag over my head so it hung across my shoulder and chest and would not fall as I climbed up the beauty of a tree and settled on its thickest branch under a pile load of leaves that made for an excellent sort of movable patch, reminding me slightly of my dear little tree-house back in Privet Drive.

My eyes fluttered as I settled comfortably in my nest, my head resting on my bag as a pillow; it was hardened from my books, but it was still much more comfortable than what I'd slept on at the Adams. Let's just say that mattress could have been argued to not be what it was called.

... perhaps I should go back _around_ Little Whinging some time soon, though, even if things have surely been cleared out after all this time. I hadn't returned after Mr. Arnold's funeral, but the house had been left in a rather messy state. I wonder if I could get Grandpa D to buy it for me with some money my parents left me. Would it be too expensive? I mean, it _is_ a house, so there is no doubt there.

I wonder how much I would have to spend on it...

"Delilah?"

My eyes snapped open, lips parting momentarily as I felt myself wobble for a moment before I felt myself fall hard onto the ground below me, cringing slightly as I crashed onto my side.

"Delilah!!"

I remained where I was, unmoving for two reasons; I was still too lazy and heavy from my earlier meal to move much, and, also, that fall hurt like a bi—

"Delilah, are you alright?"

Recognizing the girl's voice, I sluggishly lifted a hand, giving one thumb up. " _Super_."

"?!" I rolled onto my back, fumbling slightly as I tried to push my bag under my head. "Did you just— how did you—"

" _You are a witch. I am a witch. Honestly, how have you not caught on_ yet _?_ "

"I..."

Eyes closed in contentment, I sighed through my nose as I finally managed to pillow my head atop my bag.

"What are you doing?"

" _... resting my eyes._ "

"On the floor?"

" _I see no problem with that._ "

"But it's filthy!"

" _Did a_ mutt _come around and dirty the grounds? Is there mud or excrement all around?_ "

"... er... no, but..."

" _Then I do not see what is wrong with laying down and relishing in the scent and comfort that nature brings._ "

"... in a courtyard?"

" _There is a tree and water nearby— ergo,_ nature _._ "

"... you are nothing like what's said in _Hogwarts: A History._ "

I sighed. " _Let me guess: it speaks of how Potter and I valiantly defeated the Dark Lord Baldy-mort... or whatever his name is._ "

"..."

" _I hope you realize that, no matter how much power we may have, or how quick or slow as learners we may be at this day, we were still just babies when the lot of it happened._ "

"I... er... sorry. Truly, I just..."

" _Everything is so new and there are very few relatable things about, despite how many pieces in the puzzle seem to fit now?_ "

I opened my eyes and gazed upon the girl I have decidedly dubbed Brownie-Bush in my head, faintly acknowledging that unsettling look on her face as she dropped her gaze— embarrassment, I think is what it is called. I watched as she looked at me with wide eyes and nodded timidly.

My lips twitched ever so slightly as I inclined my head. " _Believe me, I have been there; I know exactly how that feels._ "

She blinked. "You do?"

I hummed, then thought for a moment. " _Say... you would not happen to know how we are to get to our first class, right?_ "

She nodded, a proud look taking over her timidity. "Yes, I've asked our Prefect before coming down..." I realize I, maybe, should have at least put in a _bit_ of effort to do that yesterday, but well... too late for that now. "How long have you been down here for?"

" _... what time is it?_ "

"It's nearing eight-twenty."

" _A few hours._ "

She lingered, almost deadpanning at my impassiveness. I couldn't help but deadpan myself, mildly surprised by how much I spoke, never mind that it was through my mind or the fact that I completely discarded my earlier task of not revealing this particular skill of mine to anyone else. Already too many people knew about it as it was, and with my apparent fame in this community, it would not do me well to attract much more attention to myself. I felt I could let it slide this once more though, for this girl— Hermes... or something— seemed like the kind to quickly shift out of a star-striking phase, so down to earth.

I peeked an eye open, once more, and glanced over at her, who seemed to have no clue of what to do with herself.

" _... well? Are you just going to keep standing there, or are you going to join me?_ "

"... on the ground?"

" _No, in the water,_ " I deadpanned before rolling my eyes at her. " _Oh, put a sock in it and just get down here already; we can head to class after, together._ "

She seemed to perk up slightly at that and, after a bit more hesitance, settled beside me, about two feet away— good, she knows there's a limit to how close you can be to me— and, using her own bag for a pillow, she laid on the stone ground beside me. It wasn't the most comfortable place to lay down, but with the silence and comfort brought from the tree before us, the sound of the trickling water from the fountain and the soft tweets of the few little birds roaming through the sky made it easy for us to relax our muscles and all but blend into the emptiness around.

It felt like barely a few seconds had passed before the girl was back on her feet, urging me to get up as well.

"Why are you being so lazy?!"

" _I have earned the right to be it._ "

I could barely believe the twenty-five minutes had all but flown by, but I had all but become a pile of mush; I did not feel the desire to move from my resting place. I could hear a few people in the distance, rushing up and down, stairs upon stairs, even though there were still fifteen minutes before we all began our first class, but I, honestly, did not envy them one bit.

"Come on, Delilah!"

" _Relax,_ Hermes _, we still have fifteen minutes. It is not like our class is on the sixth or seventh floor... it is not, right?_ "

"It's on the third floor, but it's still a few classrooms away. If we don't leave now, we'll never find good seats! And with a Professor for the class like the one we have... I'd rather be close enough to take notes quickly, especially if it'll only be hard to understand him with that stutter of his."

Sassy. Ugh, fine.

With a sigh, I disdainfully pushed myself up, wondering if perhaps another of my soul-animals would turn out to be a tortoise... or a sloth from how sluggish were my movements. When I was finally onto my feet, I reached back down and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. When I was certain I was ready, I turned to see Hermes staring at me with a deadpanning gaze.

"I have, literally, never seen any _thing_ move as slowly. I think you could even give a sloth a run for its money... if it had any."

My lips twitched, my insides warming with an oddly-placed sense of pride. " _Thank you; I pride myself in my listlessness. Now that I can afford to laze around, I will do all and anything remotely necessary to go on with this lifestyle for the rest of my life._ "

"... I don't think that's healthy."

" _It probably is not, but what can you do?_ "

Hermes momentarily inclined her head, contemplative. "My parents are dentists, but my mother has a cousin who works as a nutritionist. I could ask her to contact him and recommend a work-out regimen that might help with that."

I deadpanned; my question had been rhetorical. Besides, who would want to go through that hassle? " _I would accept that... if there was not a chance it might get in the way of my lying-around time._ "

Hermes rolled her eyes at me and huffed. "Oh, whatever, just come on already! And my name's Herm _ione_ , not Herm _es_."

I yawned as I followed her back inside. " _Not anymore._ "

"Goodness! I can't believe _you_ — just— _you_ 're— ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!" she exclaimed herself in disbelief.

I shrugged a shoulder. " _Guess we discover new talents every day._ "

"... that's not a— never mind."

On the third floor in classroom 3C was where our Defence Against the Dark Arts class was to take place from today to the end of term. Apparently, there was a chance not all our classes would take place inside the classroom, for we had to eventually put our defensive skills to practice every now and again.

Personally, I was not looking forward to the whole getting up and running about while throwing spells thing; if I were to run about, I would much rather do so phased in either one of my soul-animals. It's much more freeing that way.

When we got to classroom 3C, surprise-surprise, we were the first to get there; we'd taken a shortcut Percy had told Hermes about and, admittedly so, I got a good kick out of the odd looks thrown her way when she would retort to something I would speak into her mind. They all probably thought she was crazy for seemingly talking to herself, but I was more amused than anything.

"My name is _not_ Hermes— stop calling me that!"

" _Be glad I am not calling you Brownie-Bush._ "

She blinked, startled. "What?"

" _Ice cream._ "

She gave me an odd look. "What?"

" _Cream cheese._ "

"... what?"

" _I dunno._ "

I'd never been one to tease anybody, especially considering the way I was _actually_ brought up— forced to the point of muteness. Not even with Harry could I ever bring myself to do as much, for the both of us had far too much in common to have anything to tease one another about, so it was quite refreshing to do as such with my _extra_ little Herm _it_ , even more so after she seemed to have phased out of her fanatic demeanour within minutes. Though she was rather fiery for all her bushy-haired glory, she was rather nice and considerate despite her nosy and slightly imposing nature.

I actually quite liked her, simple as that.

I felt she would, perhaps, be the only reason I would put any effort to pay the slightest attention in class. Especially with a teacher like Squirrel, I felt I may just need the tad of contagion of her determination to succeed, even if the only thing I wish to succeed in is sleep.

As Hermes and I settled, I immediately hid my head between my arms in an attempt to ward off the strong smell of garlic. From what few whispers I'd heard, I'd gathered this man kept loads of garlic to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days.

Honestly, for a master of magic against the Dark Arts he made himself out to be, I found he was quite the coward if that was what had him stuttering to this day and wearing garlic around at all times. Now, what excuse would he have behind that ridiculous turban? Honestly, I find it an insult for cultures that demand some to wear one, for I was rather certain he did not wear it for such a reason.

When the students finally began to file in, surprise-surprise, Harry and that redheaded extra— Weasel (I think that was his surname?) were of the last to arrive and, before long, the last warning bell rang as the clock stroke nine and the first class of the day began.

"Welcome. I am P-P-Professor Quirrell. Starting t-t-today, we will b-b-be learn how to p-p-protect ourselves against D-D-Dark Magic. The spell we will b-b-begin with is the Flipendo spell."

I sat up instantly, eyes open and mind alert; now we're talking!

Instantly, however, hands shot up and questions were fired in each corner of the room. He answered the inquiry about the garlic, and the more the stuttering man went on, the more I lost hope for this class.

Yeah, yeah, I already heard about that vampire— can we move on to actual class material? Like this Flipendo spell, for instance. What does it do? From one split of the incantation, I gather it flips stuff, but is it only objects, or can it be cast on people too?

Come on, you freakin' extra, we don't have all day!

Instead, Squirrel talked about how his turban had been given to him by an African prince— yeah, right— as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie— and you're scared of a bloodsucker but not a brain-eater... because that makes so much sense. Honestly, I feel that's not even a true story, and it seems I wasn't the only one; for one thing, when that Shamus Finny boy had eagerly asked to hear how Squirrel had fought off the zombie, he went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, we had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Carrot-Top's twin brothers insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well so that he was protected wherever he went.

By the time it was ten o'clock, we'd learned next to nothing about the spell we were supposed to cover during class.

The next class was easier for me to find; since the Training Grounds were outside and were one of the largest spaces within castle grounds covered in grass and the lot, I was able to all but sniff my way there with an obviously curious Hermes following closely behind. When we got there, I noticed most of everyone else that was also Gryffindor first years had followed us there, including that round-faced boy, that Shamus kid, the dark-skinned one I faintly recall being among the last to be Sorted last night, Harry and Carrot-Top, and a few other girls whose names I could care less to retain; it was already a bit of a hassle to remember that of the teachers and the few boys and girl I'd interacted with so far, I didn't feel like putting much more effort than what was needed.

I came to find, however, that we wouldn't be having this class alone as some Ravenclaws soon joined us, all filing in after us. As the lot of us gathered around Madam Hoot— or was it Smooch?— I noticed Hermes lingering behind a little bit, hesitant. I regarded her curiously, head tilted to the side.

"Welcome to your first Flying Class. I will be your instructor, Madam Hooch."

Ah, so _that_ 's her name.

"Today, we'll begin the class with observation before learning to summon your broom, three classes from now. The way this course has been devised is: all Monday classes will be reserved for theoretical purposes, such as learning how to maintain your broom— shall you come to own one in the future— the speed and limits, and what entails each source of materials differentiating all and any broom.

For the Gryffindors, Thursday afternoon classes will be reserved for practice, whilst such practice sessions will be held on Fridays for the Ravenclaws; you will, then, be learning the lot of basic knowledge and putting it into practice, from summoning your broom to learning how to fly it.

As this week is your first and you will all mostly be spending it getting acquainted with your surroundings and new subjects, we will be going over the theoretical knowledge from here till next Monday, after which practice sessions will begin."

Hermes hesitated, momentarily, with a scrunch of her nose and a grimace. "This has got to be the only class I've been dreading for the past couple of weeks..." she mumbled.

" _What, are you afraid of heights?_ "

Her face reddened as she glanced back at me. "No! Well... maybe just the falling part. Coming from a family of non-magic folk, the closest I've ever been to the sky has been in a plane, but those have actual safety precautions and means of comfort. These are just... well, they're broomsticks— what's safe or comfortable about those? Just the idea of being off the ground without a safety belt is... it's preposterous... and terrifying..."

I won't lie; had I been someone else listening to her say this, I would've laughed out loud so hard, I'd be rolling on the ground. Like that one time back at St. Grogory's, when I'd, admittedly, become friends with Harry. Ugh; the mere thought of it made me glance over at him and feel utterly nostalgic.

With a shake of my head, I glanced back over at Hermes and looked her over, for a moment, contemplative as I shifted my gaze towards the tables of broomsticks. " _I have never been in the air, not even on a plane. Living in an orphanage does not really include vacation-travels._ "

Hermes spun around and looked at me, wide-eyed. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't... I-I—"

My lips twitched. " _There is no way you could have known anyway; history books do not always say more than what triumphant prevailed._ " I inclined my head as she dropped her gaze, _embarrassed_. " _And worry not, though I have known you less than a day, I can tell you are a rather brilliant learner and practitioner; if you just concentrate on the broom and try not to think about falling, you will manage just fine._ "

Hermes seemed to perk up if only a little. "You really think so?"

I nodded and gave a slight shrug. " _And if it makes you feel any better, I will catch you, shall you actually fall._ "

She grimaced slightly. "... that's not so reassuring; honestly, I don't think you would even make it in time."

" _Your lack of faith in me is rather insulting._ " I deadpanned. " _You would be surprised by how punctual I can be when determined._ "

"After the excessive listlessness you've displayed all morning?" I shrugged; listlessness is my pride and... yeah, that's pretty much it... still, she should praise my dedication for it rather than criticize it. "Can you really blame my doubt after that?"

I felt my lower lip jutting slightly as I furrowed my brows at her. " _... does not make it any less hurtful; I thought we had something going here._ "

Hermes snorted. "Now you're just being dramatic."

" _Ah, the art of drama. I_ would _make a good actress, would I not?_ " I nodded pensively. " _No one would be able to tell if I were lying._ "

"Something tells me, even then, you would seriously suck at that."

" _Gee, thanks for the encouragement._ "

She smiled wittily. "You're welcome."

"Now, listen up, everyone. I will begin today's lesson with a demonstration of proper broomstick-maintenance techniques. The best you maintain your broomstick, the longer it will last you and give you its best performance."

As the lecture proceeded, we learned things about the uses of a broomstick, such as regular transportation, races and this odd, but apparently, very popular sport that sounded a lot like Spinach, though I'm quite sure there were the letters 'q' and 'd' somewhere in there. I found it a little hard to understand, mostly because I kept zoning in and out as my gaze kept shifting to the very blue sky above, but I could understand the basic premise of it;

The game has about seven or eight players— I think it was seven— and there are three different balls included: the Waffle, the Blue Jay, and the Snitch... why do I get the feeling I didn't get any of that right?

Anyway, so the Waffle is the one that scores points, same premise as Hand-Ball or Soccer, though you have to throw it in either of three hoops from the opposing team... like basketball, except there's more than one hoop. Then, there are two Blue Jays with a mind of their own; they are on neutral grounds and would chase all and any from either team— heard a hit from them hurts like a bi—

The Beaters from either team make sure to keep their teammates from meeting an unfortunate hit or fall caused by the darn things, while the Chasers try to score as many points as can be via the Waffle, the Keepers guarding the hoops through which the Waffles are meant to score points.

Finally, there's the one who catches the Snitch— _that_ sounds about right. Apparently, few have a keen eye for the fast little bugger, and so each team has a player called the Seeker who literally does nothing but wait around until they catch sight of the golden little crap-ball and chase after it until they catch it; catching it ends the Spinach game.

"Now, let's see if you've been paying attention. Who can answer this question? Catching what object ends a match?"

Madam Hooch swept her gaze about, aptly ignoring Carrot-Top, who had surprisingly very eagerly lifted his hand to answer the question; she must have had a bad experience with the Weasel family... I still don't think I got that right either...

Her gaze settled on Harry, but his mind seemed utterly elsewhere. She asked that Dean boy, but he was just confused all over, trying to relate the sport to one the non-magic folk knew to understand it better. Some boy called Michael had been called on but, despite being a Ravenclaw, Madam Hooch all but gave up on him when she heard him muttering what appeared to be calculations of the sort under his breath. She had then proceeded to ask this girl called Padma, but she was lost in a field of daisies, having been caught in her excitement of having a class with her twin sister as both were in different Houses. Finally, her gaze settled upon me and I felt my eye twinkle as she called on me.

I know the answer, I had just been thinking about it... along with waffles that have suddenly spiked at my appetite. Would I be able to eat breakfast again for lunch? I think they have something like that in the States already... what was it— Leakfast... that doesn't sound right at all. Ah, Brunch. The other one just sounded like someone is trying to take a leak really fast... where do I come up with all of these things? And such weird things at that...

"Hawkins, riddle me this: catching which of the three balls I had mentioned would end a Quidditch match?"

Ah. _Quidditch_.

I lifted my little whiteboard and revealed my answer. _Snitch_.

I noticed there was a tinge of disappointment in her eyes, probably because I didn't talk like most of the other students in, perhaps, the entire school did. And yet, the contradictory feeling of pride and relief swelled along her face, seemingly glad that at least one of her students were paying attention... well, one that didn't already know the answer from all his brothers having played Spinach— wrong again? I _just_ had it...— before him.

"Excellent, Miss Hawkins." Madam Hooch smiled at me as I inclined my head humbly, a silent 'thank you' to her praise. "I do believe that rewards five points to Gryffindor."

I heard some of the Gryffindors cheering at me, congratulating me for amassing any points already, but I was utterly unfazed by the praise I was receiving and could only deadpan. Seriously, getting hyped over five House points? It appears to me none of them have high expectations of... well, anything.

Tsk... kids.

When our second period came to an end, lunchtime ensued. I was hesitant to go for, knowing Harry, he would probably attempt to get me to eat more like he had yesterday. And, although I was hungry, I was still a bit full from my morning meal, so I knew I wouldn't be able to eat so much at the moment. Instead, I chose to go back to my dorm to freshen up a bit. Hermes had offered to meet me after lunch so we could head to Charms together, and I'd instantly agreed before heading back to our Tower after following her instructions on how to head back.

As we had an hour and thirty minutes of break, I relaxed myself within the comforts of my room, placing my things away and readying what I would need for my last two classes of the day before heading for my trunk full of clothes, pulling out a new pair of black trousers and another dress-shirt and robe and neck-wrap, as well as a towel; I hadn't washed up this morning after my random nosebleed, and, although comfortable I found it to be, Hermes was right about the floor outside being dirty.

I paused for a moment as a thought hit me; I have no idea how to get anywhere in this place, so how was I to get to a bathroom to take a bath? After a moment's hesitation, I tried something I would have never thought of before today.

" _... Deesey?_ "

There was a rather loud and ominous crackling sound before, suddenly, the little elf appeared before me. I had jumped back upon her sudden appearance, utterly startled; I had called out to her without thinking much and hadn't exactly expected her to suddenly appear out of thin air. I thought it was impossible to— what was the word?— _Apparate_ in or about Hog of Warts.

... what? I listen... sometimes...

"Miss Dawn, how may Deesey be of service?"

I sighed through my nose, a little off-put with being addressed as Dawn. " _It is Hawkins, not Dawn._ "

Deesey blinked and stared up at me, curiously. "I beg your pardon, Miss?"

" _My name,_ " I pressed. " _My name is Delilah Hawkins, not Dawn and certainly not Ella._ "

Deesey tilted her head to one side. "Has Miss Ella's boy-love changed his name?"

I blinked, startled by the question. " _... what? No, I—_ "

Deesey suddenly looked horror-struck. "Has Miss Ella's boy-love left her?!"

I blinked, feeling suddenly very perturbed. " _No, I— just... you may call me_ Lilah _._ "

There, simple as ever.

Deesey blinked ever so innocently then bowed, for whatever reason, I could not tell. "Of course, _Miss_ Lilah." I deadpanned. "How may Deesey be of service?" she repeated, a smile lighting up her face as she gazed up at me wonderingly.

I blanked out for a moment, for, honestly, I hadn't expected any of this to happen. After a moment's thought, I asked her if she could bring something I could feed Atlas with and, within seconds, she had popped out and back into my room with a small plate filled with broken down pieces of bread and an open bowl filled with water. She placed it on my desk and, upon thanking her, I went over to the open window by Atlas' perch and took a peek out through it as I called him back in; I hadn't seen him since early before dawn, and so I was not certain exactly where he had wandered off to.

" _Coming, Boss!_ "

Shortly after his call in my mind, a loud squawk echoed through the air before I could see him in a short distance, heading my way.

Turning back to the elf in the room, I then asked her how to get to the closest bathroom for a bath, and pleasantly directed me to the one just a floor below, by the staircase near the boys' dormitory; I do believe it was the one Atlas had mentioned earlier, but I was only in half a mind during that conversation, so I hadn't paid him much attention.

" _That hurts!_ "

I looked over at my familiar and shrugged, inclining my head to the little house-elf in thanks, who smiled back at me ever so brightly before disappearing with a loud crack. Grabbing my bundle of clothes, I leisurely made my way out of my room and toward which way I was told the bathroom was. When I reached it, I hesitated by the door, unsure if it was actually a lavatory I could use, especially if it was just by the boys' dormitory. Throwing caution over my shoulder when I sensed no one in the premise, I slipped in and locked the door behind me.

Walking further inside, I flicked my wrist, using my telekinetic ability to lift the bath taps surrounding the one side of the pool-like bath sunk into the ground. As the bath began to fill itself, I glanced about and noticed there were bath supplies by one edge of the tub, a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo sat by piles of towels and bathrobes, as well as a whole bunch of other products that were foreign to me. Honestly, why would one need so many products to take a _bath_?

Stripping myself from my clothes, I shuddered slightly upon being bare before stepping into the bath, relaxing at the tickling sensation brought on by the coolness of the water. Flicking my wrist yet again, I pushed at the bath taps to stop the water from overfilling the bath and leaned in one corner, closing my eyes momentarily as I felt the tension releasing from my muscles.

For a moment, I remained there, unmoving before, yet again, flicking my wrist to open the only window in the lavatory, for I felt the overbearing heat of my own body fused with the hottening water was a tad suffocating despite the water feeling only warm against my skin. When the heat and steam gradually subsided, I found myself finally able to relax myself, body and mind.

After washing myself carefully with a scrub I'd rubbed profusely with soap till it was soaked with soapy foam, I proceeded to untangle the knots in my hair as I washed it with some shampoo and spoonful of this thing called conditioner; I had no idea what it was, but it said it was for the hair, and I had gotten a little carried away with the smell of chocolate and strawberry it gave out— more so the chocolate than the strawberry, of course, for the fruity scent just smelled fake.... then again, I've never actually smelled or... eaten a strawberry, so I wouldn't know what it tasted or looked like, for that matter.

It was when I was done washing myself that I let myself relax further and rest in the corner, grabbing a towel to pillow my head as I leaned on the side. Time had all but slipped through my fingers as, I realize, I'd fallen asleep; had it not been for Atlas flying in and screeching in my ear, this would've probably ended in a fearful sight.

" _You're at school for a reason!! You cannot waste it lazing around like that!_ "

" _... I am still young, what is the hurry in anything?_ " I grumbled as I stepped out of the bath and dried myself off before sliding on a pair of underwear then began to wrap my chest.

Atlas threw me a look akin to a glare as he squawked, fluttering his wings. " _It's not about hurry, but about being careful. Had I not come as soon as I did, you could've wound up dead, having drowned!_ "

I deadpanned. " _In a bathtub._ "

" _The water's deep in there!_ "

" _Deep? It barely covered me as it was._ "

" _... it's a big bathtub!_ "

I sighed as I began to change into my clothes, slipping my shoes on last. " _'Las, I appreciate the concern, but despite what you may think in regards to my listlessness, I_ am _mindful of my surroundings, and that includes that of a bathroom._ "

Shrugging on my robe, I walked over to Atlas and crouched as I reached down to cradle him in my arms.

" _I would never put myself in a position where I would intentionally look to get hurt. I am here for my job more so than my study, and though I may appear very unenthusiastic about the lot, I have my priorities sorted. You do_ n't _have to worry so much about me._ "

I felt the natural result of my lips curling ever so slightly as I gazed fondly down at my familiar, my lips twitching more so as he squawked a little more softly before nuzzling his head against my cheek.

" _... you're a worrisome kid, you know that?_ "

" _Like you would have me otherwise._ "

His beady eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked up at me. " _Actually, I would—_ "

I regarded him flatly. " _Do not even think of finishing that sentence._ "

Atlas squawked yet again before fluttering his wings. " _Don't be late, Lilah._ "

I sighed, letting him fly out of my arms before reaching down to grab my discarded clothes, taking the towel I had used to continue pressing the water out of my hair as I made my way out of the lavatory and back to my room, where I dumped the lot in the empty basket by my door before grabbing my bag and heading back out, not too surprised to find Hermes already waiting in the Common Room.

"Well, you sure took your sweet time," she commented, a tinge of annoyance colouring her tone, though no bother showing on her face.

I shrugged. " _Patience is virtue._ " I blinked. " _Or so I have heard..._ " Tilting my head to the side, I frowned. "... _what_ is _virtue?_ "

Hermes rolled her eyes and giggled in spite of herself before standing from her spot on the armchair by the fireplace and walking over to me. "We should go now if we don't want to be late."

My brows furrowed slightly; _seriously though, what_ is _virtue?_ Sighing softly through my nose, I decided to leave it for now as I nodded, my lower lip jutting slightly as a few wet locks of hair fell into my eyes.

"You've bathed?" I nodded as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "You shouldn't walk about with wet hair; you could get sick."

I snorted. Me? Sick? _Please_.

"I don't know any spells for drying up yet, but why don't you tie your hair up for now so it's not in the way? We can ask Professor Flitwick when we get to class for the adequate charm for something like this."

I scrunched my nose and shook my head, glancing protectively down at my only hair-tie left, hanging from my wrist. " _My hair is too thick— last time I had tied it up, the hair-tie broke._ "

I deadpanned, yet again, as a snort escaped the girl before me who instantly slapped a hand against her own mouth in a failed attempt to hide her laughter. Still giggling, she pulled her hand down and tugged at my robe, nodding toward the seat she had been previously occupying.

"Sit, I'll braid your hair; it'll be easier to manage."

 _Braid_? I blinked, puzzled by the word she'd said, but did as told, either way, plopping down on the cushioned seat.

"We might have to undo it as soon as we get to class though; tied wet hair is the _perfect_ formula for a big headache."

Placing her books on the short table nearby, she walked up behind me and grabbed a handful of my hair, running her hands through it a few times to, I assume, remove what little knots I had not managed to rid myself of. After a moment, I felt her fingers tracing what felt like lines through my scalp, separating my hair and creating some odd pattern I had never before felt or even witnessed.

As she reached half-way through my hair, Harry and Carrot-Top entered the Common Room, three familiar boys trailing behind them as the five of them conversed rather loudly among each other. I shot them a glare from the corner of my eye, ensuing Carrot-Top to be the first to shut his mouth before the others, having followed his gaze toward me, followed suit.

The odd hairdo fell down to my side like a tail; it left my lightning-shaped scar on the left side of my neck a slightly bit exposed for all to see, but I was far too entranced by the odd yet neat and fascinating pattern of this "braid" Hermes had expertly thread into my hair, the tip small enough to tie together and not break the only hair-tie I had left. For a moment, Hermes smiled and nodded proudly at her handiwork before her eyes trailed down to my neck-wrap and she uttered a snort.

"Do you not know how to tie it?" she wondered, nodding at the piece of clothing hanging loosely around my neck.

I shrugged as I stood, adjusting the strap of my bag hanging from my shoulder before grabbing one end of the wrap and flipping it across my neck and over my shoulder so it lay flipped like an actual scarf, crossed over but not exactly tied.

" _It is a neck-wrap, how else should it be worn but wrapped around the neck?_ "

Hermes snorted. "It's a tie."

I blinked. " _I do not understand,_ what _is tied?_ "

She giggled, stepping in front of me, pulling at the end of the neck-wrap I had flipped over my shoulder. " _This_." She tugged at it lightly, an indication of what she had been referring to. "This is called a _tie_ , not a _neck-wrap_."

"Where did she get "neck-wrap" from?" I faintly heard one of the boys whisper, though I paid them little to no mind. "I didn't hear her say anything of the sort... or anything at all, for that matter..."

"... it's a thing she does," I heard Harry's mumbled reply.

I watched with furrowed brows as Hermes tugged a bit more on the "tie" before she began fiddling with it, crossing one end over the other and twisting it about until it was a near replica of what I would once see Mr. Arnold wear with his suits whence he would have to go into work.

I was rendered, yet again, utterly dazed at the exquisite handiwork of _Hermione_ Stran... yeah, I don't remember what her last name is.

"Come on now," she uttered with a smile as she went to grab her things. "We don't want to be late now, do we?"

Glancing over at the boys over her shoulder, she nodded at them toward the entrance and exit of the Gryffindor Tower.

"The lot of you too; who knows how late you'll be if you wander off on your own."

As the boys followed, Carrot-Top scoffed under his breath; "We're not _that_ disoriented," he grumbled, following close behind.

"Yes, Ron, we are," said Harry.

The lot of us scrambled through the portrait hole and went on our way to our third period; Charms. We were to have it in Classroom 2E, on the third floor within the Training Grounds tower. Honestly, I didn't even think the towers of this castle had names.

Hermione led us through the route she deemed quickest, with me trailing just at her right, and Harry and Carrot-Top at mine, the three other boys walking behind us, along with a few other Gryffindor first-years who had scampered behind us upon catching sight of us through the corridor, leaving our Tower. To reach the main staircase leading to our destined floor, we were to pass by the Great Hall, and to the entrance of the castle, though, much to my own chagrin, that was when the series of very unsubtle whispers began hissing through the air like the irritating buzzing of flies.

"There, look!"

"Where?"

"Next to the kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

"Is the girl beside them Hawkins?"

"With the long braid?"

"Did you see her scar?"

"She's pretty."

I deadpanned at the last comment.

The whispers followed us until we'd reached the bottom of the staircase, at which point, anyone near it only cared to get to class, much to my relief, and that of Harry too, it seems.

At one point, we'd come across a very grouchy looking man who seemed to have a permanent sneer stuck on his face. I couldn't remember his name— not that I cared much to— but I vaguely recalled Grandpa D mentioning this man to be a sort of caretaker of this establishment; I knew it was him because of that stupid cat lingering behind him, its piercing gaze glancing at everyone with boundless amount of suspicion that could get it killed if there was such thing as dying from that.

I stopped dead in my step, ignoring completely whatever the man was growling about at Harry and Carrot-Top— it seems they already got on his wrong side— my own gaze locked within the bulging, lamp-like eyes it seemed to share with its owner. The cat emitting a sound akin to a mix between a purr and a snarl, but I merely glared back at the feline, uttering a guttural growl at it, causing it to shrink in submission behind its owner.

My lips twitched as I leaned back, satisfied with the reaction I'd earned myself. Hermione shot me a look, regarding me oddly having been the only one to pay attention to my exchange with the stupid, nosy cat before shaking her head to herself, seemingly baffled.

The Charms teacher was a tiny, little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. Having un-braided my hair as soon as we'd found ourselves seats, Hermione went to ask him if he could teach us a spell for drying off, and after a chuckle of the wise at her eagerness to learn, he quickly said an incantation with a flick of his wrist, and a jet of warm air suddenly enveloped me and, seconds later, my hair was all dry.

After a promise to teach it to us later on, Hermione settled beside me and we waiting for the last students to file in for the class to start. I noticed she looked oddly pleased with herself and she merely shrugged and smiled, leaning in to whisper at me.

"I totally memorized that spell he just cast."

Truth be told, so did I; I only ever made an effort for what I deem most convenient, especially considering how I'm all about shortcuts. I wonder where I got that from...

 _Fervens Aeris_. I can totally remember that. _Fervens Aeris. Fever Aris. Fever A_... oh, no.

Oh, well; I've got Hermes.

As the last of the students settled in and the class finally began, Professor Flip-'n-swish took the roll call, though, when he reached my name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. It seems I wasn't physically as recognizable as I initially thought. Then, the man nearly fainted moments later upon calling out Harry's.

Once he seemed to be back in his right set of mind enough to teach, he began by introducing himself.

"Welcome, young witches and wizards, to your very first Charms Class at Hogwarts. I will be your instructor, Professor Flitwick. Please pay close attention to the instructions, and take great care practicing the spells you learn."

Our first lesson covered the Wand-Lighting Charm; it was a short incantation with the useful purpose of lighting up dark places, whether one was "searching a shadowy room for hidden dangers, or trying to find a scroll that rolled under the sofa."

His words, not mine.

Honestly, if there were danger nearby, I would just turn and walk the other way. And isn't there a summoning charm of sorts that would help in the case of a scroll rolling under a sofa? Honestly, why not just move the sofa while you're at it, and grab the stupid scroll.

The charm itself was a rather quick and easy one to learn, the wand movement being that of a nice, smooth upwards loop. Nonetheless, it was considerably important to know it, for, as much of a technical person as I was, even I had to admit it was useful; I had incredibly good eyesight, but I didn't exactly have a cat's eye.

Now how are we to turn the light off after, though...?

Not to worry, for Professor Flip... oh, boy— the _professor_ had that covered. He'd initially thought it best to teach both incantations in separate classes, for such was instructed in his syllabus. However, he felt we were learning this considerably simple charm rather quickly, so he figured it be best to teach both related spells this same lesson, for this period was an hour and a half long anyway; might as well make most of it.

The incantations were _Lumos_ and _Nox_ , words derived from the ancient language that was Latin, and some other I did not know the name of. The former ignited a narrow beam of light that shines from the wand's tip, kind of like a torch, while the latter merely extinguished it like a candle blown out.

By the time our lesson came to an end, he had us merely review the spell in Chapters 1 and 2 from our _Standard Book of Spells_ and practice it in our own time, for we would go over it one last time at the beginning of our next class on Thursday. Our homework, aside from the practice and review, was to read Chapters 3 and 4 as well; the chapters on the Locking and Unlocking charms and practice the wand movements instructed.

In pairs, all of us Gryffindor first years filed out of the classroom and headed for the greenhouses behind the castle for Herbology, our last class of the day, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout. There, we were to learn, throughout the course of the year, how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and find out what they were used for.

In the meantime, I couldn't help but relish in the feeling of nature and drift away. How I fell asleep standing, I will never know. I guess one could call it a skill that comes with being listless.

Ah, listlessness... my pride and... yeah, that's pretty much it.

... I don't got much going on.


	17. 7½ - Rewrite The Stars

**November 17, 1980**

"Would you stop doing that?"

Golden eyes fluttered open and stared lazily down at a pair of violet eyes. "... whaa?"

Ella glared at the older woman, rolling her eyes as she snatched her very amused baby girl from the Doctor's arms, brows furrowed in slight irritation.

"Falling asleep at any given moment! Seriously, she'll start picking up on your crazy habits."

The Doctor chuckled softly as she stretched her arms above her and threw one last glance at the window she'd been staring out through about an hour ago before she'd fallen asleep right in front of it, holding the pack's little treasure in her arms.

"Oh, come on; it's a gift! She'll be lucky if she can get any sleep at all with everything that's to come."

Ella scoffed as she placed her sleepy child into her crib she only just noticed was beginning to be too small for the rapidly growing infant; she probably wouldn't fit in it in a few weeks anymore.

"Yeah, things we could avoid if you would just tell—"

"You know why I can't, Ella."

The silence was heavy as it fell between both women, the only sounds being that of their beating hearts, hammering almost in sync, and the soft breathing of the little angel sleeping soundly in her crib.

"Why did you come at all?"

The Doctor's gaze dropped momentarily, resting upon the young mother's tense figure, looming over the tiny one lain comfortably in her little mattress, kept safe by the oak cylinders caging her in before she glanced back out the window, eyes staring longingly at the starlit sky.

" _It's never easy_ ," her soft voice suddenly rang throughout the room, whisking softly out the small crack of the open window and blending in with the breeze in a sad but beautiful melody. " _Sometimes you just don't know what to do_."

" _'Cause there are mountains... and there are doors that we can't walk through._ "

Gaze dropping once more, she cut herself short for a moment as she stared a second longer at the sky outside before quietly shutting the window and closing the curtain. Spinning around, her golden eyes bore into the saddened, inquiring gaze of the young mother.

" _And you may just wonder why_ ," she sang softly as she walked along the edge of the room, running a delicate finger along the pretty purple wallpaper on her way to the light-switch; " _because you can only be yourself behind these closed-up walls._ "

Shutting the door with a soft 'click', a golden hue sealing the slitting spaces between it and the door-frame, she spun till she faced the young woman again, gradually advancing toward the center of the room where she stood beside the crib.

" _But when we get outside you're gonna open your eyes and see that it was hopeless after all..._ "

A glowing golden sphere suddenly manifested itself in her open palm, floating just a skid off her skin before it shot up into the ceiling, dispersing in an almost flash-blinding light, prompting Ella to cover her eyes.

" _No one can rewrite the stars,_ _there's no resetting this life._ "

The glowing sphere had dispersed into a replica of the starlit sky lighting up the ceiling, and what almost looked like the solar system surrounding them, each sphere containing moving images of people Ella did not recognize, but one with her face in a place she did not know for the life of her.

" _When things have been set from the start, one cannot just rewrite all the lines._ "

A whisk of glowing lines interconnecting the little planets swirled out and around them before breaking into a dust of red sparks.

" _It's not up to you, it's not up to_ me _; I'm afraid some things are just meant to be._ "

A tear slipped from Ella's eye as she caught the Doctor's miserably failed attempt at hiding the nearly distraught look on her face as her golden eyes skimmed through the magical projecting hovering around them.

" _How can we rewrite the stars? Changing a world to be ours...?_ "

Her gaze dropped as the projection swiftly faded into nothing.

"I'd change it all, if I could. You know I would. But some things _have to_ happen. I...I've meddled enough as it is; if any more changes... things could be bad, _really_ bad."

Ella's own gaze dropped, staring longingly at her daughter. "What about us? Forget me— what about her? My boys?"

The pair of fiery golden eyes looked up at her firmly. "They'll be fine. They all will. Maybe not immediately, but they're strong; they have the blood of the old running through their veins, including that of a long line of alphas. They'll be perfectly fine."

"... can you guarantee the GN, or at least MK will keep an eye on them."

"They'll be _fine_ , Ella. It's not up to me, but... I've already rewritten quite a few stars— _they_ 'll be fine."

Ella spared one last glance at the little bundle sleeping soundly in her crib. "... thank you."

The Doctor smiled softly as she headed for the door. "No problem."

She paused, her nose twitching slightly as she thought for a moment, her hand stopping on the twisting doorknob.

"... though, she may come to suffer from quite a bout of laziness... maybe listlessness— happens after you "move too many stars"— totally not my fault— by-ye!"

Ella blinked as the older woman sped out of the room, staring blankly at the door left ajar.

"You've gotta be shit—"

"Can't rewrite _all_ the stars!"


	18. 8 - The Girl Who... slept too much

**September 3, 1991**

Professor _McGonagall_ was mildly different from our other instructors. She was strict and clever and, much to my chagrin, you couldn't just "drift off" in the middle of a lesson taught by her. She was a "no-nonsense" kind of person, and would seriously not take your shit if you ever tried to give her any.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she had said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

I found one could easily learn from her, for, despite the complexity that came with the magical art that was Transfiguration, she had a simplistic and on-point manner of speaking when she taught, and that was all that was needed to get my attention, even more so when she changed her desk into a pig and back again; and I felt myself instantly adopting her as my idol and aunt.

I wonder how she would react if I just up and called her Aunt Nerva...

Though the second day it was, it was still a very understanding thing that not many knew how to get to her classes, but when you just waited until the last minute to go look for where you're to go next, obviously you won't get there on time.

Harry and Carrot-Top didn't seem to get that.

Harry, having never really had many friends beside me, could only relish, it seems, in the presence of the other boys being nice to him and paying him attention, even if most of many did so merely because they were fascinated by the famous boy. However, loitering a little too much with a whiny redhead who merely complained because he held a childish dislike for Hermione and refused to listen to any of her warning or advice as a fellow-classmate because of it, was not exactly the best way to be any sort of exemplary student.

Also, being constantly late would only lose us House-points, and as lazy as I was, I was not eager to fail in that department. Failing only meant having to put more effort for compensation, and it's not like I was getting paid for anything I did, so why push so far?

"Amazing! We made it!"

The pair of boys came late, barreling into the classroom, twenty minutes within the lesson, making quite a ruckus, if I do say so myself. Professor McGonagall had, somehow, morphed her body into that of a cat and sat atop her desk, gazing about the class, surveying each student when they had suddenly come bustling in. Despite her feline form though, you could easily tell she was rather annoyed.

"Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?"

Putting in wonderful display her "no-nonsense" attitude, Professor McGonagall leaped from her desk, transforming mid-way back into her human form ever so gracefully and rather elegantly; honestly, one would think she were a lady of nobility in a previous lifetime.

I blinked, staring at her in awe before dropping my gaze to my hands; by now, I was able to phase back and forth between my human form and either of my two soul-animals, but it still took me a bit of time with the size I had to adjust to and the cracking of my bones as they would enlarge and relocate inside my body, readjusting to the much larger size I'd morph into. However, I couldn't do so as gracefully as she had, even if I'd wanted to— I couldn't even keep my clothes when I phased! I would have to ask her if there was a spell for that sometime...

After a witty remark from the wise, the two boys scurried about before finally settling a few desks away from Hermione and I, opening their books to begin the assigned chapter Professor McGonagall had us begin to read.

Following first period, we were back in Classroom 3C, under Professor Squirrel's twitchy eye. Finally, the period began with the learning of the use and techniques of the Flipendo spell. However... that was just about it. I wasn't sure if it was a thing anyone else would come to notice just as quickly, but I came to find why exactly students from other years found Squirrel's classes to be a joke and failed to take him seriously.

For a class meant to train young witches and wizards on how to defend themselves against the Dark Arts, Squirrel solely focused on the theoretical side of things.

To a certain extent, I guess this was something that could, arguably, be considered of acceptable standards, especially taking into account the fact that we're first-year students in this classroom, and that was only the tip of it; most of us had never even held a magic stick before having purchased one after receiving our acceptance letter. However, with his practical aspect severely hampered by his timid and stuttering nature, disabling him from teaching properly, it was no wonder why no one took him seriously.

Nothing, however, could beat the most boring class in the whole Hog of Warts, being History of Magic; imagine being taught by a dead man.

... exactly.

Joke aside, though, that class was _actually_ taught by a ghost. Apparently, Professor Binns— I think that's the only name I've gotten right...— had been very old when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. He would drone on and on while we scribbled down names and dates— more like I slept and left the scribbling to good ol' Hermes— and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

And Xylomancy... that's for the dead.

Okay, I may be exaggerating a little bit; our Xylomancy classes were twice a week, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons in the North Tower. The subject involved the "often overlooked" method of divination which relied upon _twigs_... as well as a good nap from my part. The class was taught by a wizard with a rather loopy personality— not of lot of "there, there"— and so, for the most part of the class, he would leave us with in-class assignments to do but, mostly, my classmates would chat among each other whence left to their own devices.

No need to guess what I would do.

So far, from the eight out of ten classes I'd had till now, I'd found I only liked two, being Charms and Transfiguration, and I guess Flying to some extent; now all I had left to do was wait and see whether I would like any among Potions or Magical Theory.

**September 5, 1991**

Magical Theory was, yet, another dull subject; I found this out when I suddenly woke up in our classroom where our Xylomancy class takes place, having been carried all the way by _Harry_ , while Carrot-Top carried my bag, a seemingly permanent scowl on his reddened face as Hermione talked his ear off the entire way there, I was told.

The subject in question covered magic from a purely theoretical standpoint, including the topic of how spells work. It was an interesting subject alone— learning how magic worked— but when the teacher was a foreigner with an incredibly thick accent that was somehow interlaced with that of an English person, and he liked to drone on and on to the point where his class could give a dead professor a run for his money, there was clearly a problem.

Now, don't get me wrong; Professor Majoras-mask— it was something along those lines— was a nice man. But his speech was just too hard to understand, I would literally cast a subtitle spell on him if there was such a thing.

As the days slowly dragged on and we were nearing the end of our first week, I found only one thing bothering me most aside from the effort I had to put in to actually get out of my trusty cocoon, get dressed and get to class— _wow_ , I sound depressing.

Avoiding Harry was a maddeningly hard thing to do.

For one thing, we were in the same House, and we had the same classes, and despite Carrot-Top's best efforts to keep them both away from Hermione, whom he seemed to hold some sort of a grudge against, Harry just kept finding his way back to my side.

For another... let's just say, _everything_ would've been a _lot_ easier if we hadn't met prior to joining Hog of Warts. Now, don't get me wrong; I actually _care_ bunches about that numb-nut of a boy-wonder, but I was in no mood to go over why I'd suddenly left Privet Drive without notice or even a simple farewell.

Call me a shameless coward, I call it listlessness to the finest— I don't do confrontation; it takes a lot of energy to just come up with an argument...

Admittedly so, I'd never cared for anyone as much as I cared for Harry.

I knew secrets about my family, and yet I knew nothing about any of them personally. I mean, if it hadn't been for Grandpa D finally finding where I'd ended up after all these years, I might've never known I was of magic descent outside that of a soul-shifter and might've spent the rest of my life thinking of myself as a freak... I mean, I am one, but I don't feel so bad about it anymore.

I was fond of Miss Kathie, and yet I knew nothing beyond her having Mrs. Merilyn for a sister and Mr. Banner for a stepfather.

I was fond of the Harrisons, and yet I lost them before I could find out anything more.

I... _appreciated_ Mr. Howl... to an extent, but there was no way in Heaven or Hell I was seeing that weirdo of a man again.

Harry... the little I'd known about him had expanded so rapidly that, at times, it felt as though my brain would burst from everything I knew about him, it frightened me. And knowing I'd cared so much as to promise him I wouldn't leave... promise him _anything_...

I couldn't bring myself to face him after breaking that promise.

I feel there's a chance he may, eventually, figure that out if he hasn't already, though I don't know how I would respond if he did manage to confront me like he had on our first night here. Though he had let it go then, there's no telling if he would next time and, clearly, he's egging towards me far too often to find out what exactly happened the night following our last encounter in Privet Drive.

Frankly, though, to this day I could hardly understand it myself.

Strange things have occurred my whole life. From my quick understanding of anything since my birth, to all the abilities I possess; now, I'm no expert on any of it, but I'm pretty sure it's not _normal_ for someone to have this much in power.

I sighed, filled with fatigue and utter despair; gods, just thinking through all that tired me to no end, it seems. It was inevitable of me to feel as such, though; after all, though beyond supernatural I was, I was still very much human...

I think... at this point, I don't really know anymore...

In the end, despite my numerous attempts to avoid the raven-haired boy-wonder and his trusty, redheaded side-kick, contradicting my listlessness on a whole other level, it became an inevitable routine to walk alongside them and my bushy-haired guide to, well, everywhere really.

I came to rely on Hermione for most of anything whilst clinging subconsciously, though somewhat perceptively as well, onto the inevitable familiarity and coolness that came with being beside Harry, his slightly, mildly cool temperature bringing me a lovely sense of comfort whence pressed against my own blazing skin.

Carrot-Top... he was still a bit of an extra in my eyes, but I'm learning to overcome that. Not really, I just realized his name, or rather nickname was short enough to remember, and seeing as he's a bit of a constant presence around Harry, who always gravitated toward me, I thought it was about time I learned to use his name while addressing him.

I'm severely unmotivated when it comes to anything, but I'm learning... it— it's "R _i_ n", right?

He was far from gaining any respect from me, compared to both Harry and Hermione. However, he was quite a sturdy crutch and had an oddly comfortable back; he was also rather strong for an eleven-year-old but, then again, he comes from a large family with a lifestyle akin to that of farmers, from what I'd managed to overhear at some point.

It took me a few days, but, by the nearing end of the week, I could not help but deadpan even more so when I realized how comfortable I'd let myself get around these kids; it's like, I was just too lazy that I, somehow, ended up making a nest out of them.

I came to rely on them so much so that, frankly, if I could, I would make them my consorts.

... I don't know what a consort is, but it seems like something that would totally be convenient for a listless ass like myself to have.

"Why the heck are _you_ thinking about _consorts_?"

I blinked, deadpanning at the question; had I accidentally projected my thoughts unto someone else? My chin shifted slightly in the palm of my hand as I lazily glanced up and felt mildly surprised upon locking gazes with that purple-eyed girl I'd caught staring at me during the Sorting on Sunday. She'd stared at me for barely a second before shifting her gaze further down.

Following her gaze, it took me a second to realize she was staring down at my little whiteboard laying atop the table before me, and a second longer to realize what I'd scrawled upon it ever so absentmindedly... I should really find myself a dictionary.

I felt my brows furrowing slightly and my lower lip jutting out a tad bit as I noticed the girl all but scrutinizing me and gave her a look that forwardly inquired, " _What do_ you _want?_ "

She seemed to quickly catch on to my silent inquiry but merely mirrored my usual look, deadpanning. The silence remained between us for quite some time, both of our faces deadpanning as we openly stared at each other.

"Well, if it isn't our—"

"—two, odd-eyed, little fiends."

I blinked, feeling as though I'd just broken the record of the most deadpanning person.

"Did you guys just—"

I stood and brandished my board for them to see, finishing the girl's sentence _— call us little_ fiends _?_

I didn't think one could ever get so tired from merely deadpanning so much, but I just discovered, it seems, a whole new world— I mean feeling; a whole new face to irritation.

I stared between the purple-eyed girl and the redheaded twins, blinking, far too listless to express anything else; frankly, their sudden presence hadn't even startled me one bit. They hadn't even startled her, it seems; it's almost as though she was used to them by now.

I could never get used to them; they were far too energetic for my taste.

The three of them together made me think of something— certain words that were just on the tip of my tongue. I'd overheard some burly old geezer muttering to himself this one time that the Harrisons had taken me to a low-key fancy restaurant— _One Ma_ _iden_ , or something of the sort; he'd been muttering some odd terminologies that seemed rather medieval; kings and queens, and a game of thrones of sorts.

Looked like it would be one heck of a _bloody_ story, so I'd stopped paying attention to him, favouring my slice of chocolate cake.

I continued to look on as the three began to bicker, or rather the twins kept teasing the girl while she called them out on nearly everything they said, standing there with her face nearly as red as their hair. Meanwhile, my mind was still trying to find those words that were right on the tip of my tongue while half of my thoughts kept drifting back to that delicious piece of chocolate cake.

... I want chocolate now. I find I don't really have a preference when it comes to chocolate, just so long as it's not dark chocolate— I find the taste of the latter is just far too bitter for me. I'd never had a preference for food, mostly because I was only ever okay with just having at least a bit to eat, but ever since I'd had my first taste at a Mars Bar, and then on all sorts of the deliciousness that was chocolate, it was like walking into a whole new world.

I got it.

_Queensguard. Fools._

I don't know why I thought of this _queensguard_ thing whence looking upon the Hufflepuff before me; I didn't know her, and I certainly knew not of the meaning behind the word itself. _Fools_ for the twins was just spot-on; if I had a sense of humour, I would laugh at anything they did or said. Sadly, that part of my brain went down the drain, ages ago, hence my permanent face of the very meaning of lack of motivation.

I blinked, mildly startled when the three of them gave me a deadpanning look that could give me a run for my money, and it took me a moment to realize I had written the words down on my whiteboard and turned it so they could read it.

"Oi! Who are you calling fools?" the twins called out to me in unison.

"Are you three bothering another first-year again?"

I suddenly felt dizzy as I spun on my heel and found myself staring into a pair of familiar light-blue sapphires. His eyes were odd— how can blue eyes look like burning gems?— but then again, I wasn't really one to talk, considering my own eyes were two different colours. I found that the tension previously building in my body from the startling suddenty that came with being tackled by the twins and the girl that seemed to complete their odd little trio suddenly vanished, the overwhelm...ance morphed into sudden comfort.

"Egypt!" the purple-eyed Hufflepuff chirped happily, smiling up at the boy who blatantly ignored her as he stared straight at the twins.

"It was her idea," they uttered simultaneously, pointing at the girl.

"Hey!"

His eyes suddenly fell back upon my person and travelled further down, his expression deadpanning momentarily before his lips quirked up ever so slightly, the previously stern look on his face loosening slightly as he chuckled softly.

"Quite a fitting description, if I do say so myself," he mused.

I blinked before shifting my gaze back down to my whiteboard, erasing its contents before scribbling upon it, yet again, and showing them my silent question.

_Potions Class. Where?_

I didn't have Potions Class today, but I wanted to know in advance for tomorrow, while I was here, still standing. Otherwise, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I got lost and fell asleep somewhere random, in a peculiar way, out of listless impulse.

The four seemed amused at the way I blatantly swerved from the previous one-sided conversation that was clearly going nowhere, though none seemed to grasp that my question was actually directed toward the tall Ravenclaw.

"Come on, I'll show you," the girl offered.

"You'll have her spirit deteriorating in seconds, 'holm," said the Ravenclaw.

"You can always come along, 'gypt," the girl replied with a smile. "I'll even give you a reward for being a valiant knight!"

"I'll pass," he retorted dryly.

Her smile instantly dropped, almost in defeat. The sentiment was, honestly, reflected on my person; I'd rather be guided by this boy who was clearly a fellow introvert, instead of being dragged by someone who represented the complete opposite of what I stood for.

An effortless lifestyle.

"Aw, why not?"

He gave her a flat look. "Well, unlike some people—" He shot the twins a look; "— I don't exactly find flattery at being flirted with by a child."

The girl frowned. "Hey, we're the same age!"

His lips quirked ever so slightly. "Are we?" He glanced down at me. "If you'd rather avoid such vivacity, I'd suggest perhaps asking your House Prefect for such affairs, or perhaps a teacher, the next time you're looking how to get somewhere. Even the portraits would be a much better help."

I probably should have thought about that. Oh, well.

Then, the boy turned to glare at the twins. "Stop terrorizing the First Years. God _s_ , sometimes the two of you are as bad as Peeves."

"We have been nothing but welcoming." The boy rolled his eyes, prompting a grin from both twins as he turned to walk away before the twin carrot-tops simultaneously turned, waving at us. "Goodbye, Denholm." They then grinned at me. "See you later, little Hawk."

I regarded them flatly; if anything, I'm a _wolf_ , not a hawk. I could eat hawks... well, I eat chicken... _bird_ — I digress.

"By the way, I'm Gwenledyr," the girl introduced herself, smiling down at me.

I blinked, then gave a slow nod, acknowledging her name, though mentally grimacing at the length of it and its odd pronunciation; I would _definitely_ have to come up with a shorter name for her...

We took our time as the last class of the day had already ended, and there were but two hours left before we'd all have to get to the Study Hall, so I dug through my brain as I followed her through the long corridors of the castle, descending stairs upon stairs, stopping every once in a while to rest before resuming our walk.

Honestly, I wasn't really tired of just walking, but I was just too lazy.

 _Sigh_ ; if only the hallways were moving-walkways, and the stairs were escalators, and the doors were automatic... that would all be quite handy.

I wonder if Grandpa D would be up for such a negotiation...

Of course, these features would have to be added magically, for they would all otherwise implode whence near any of us; apparently, magic and technology don't mix well.

"Your dreams are strangely out of hand."

I blinked, coming yet to another stop as I gazed up at the older girl beside me. How... is she... can she read my mind?

"It's a little fuzzy, but I guess it's just something _we_ can do." She shrugged and smiled. "You're a Dawn, aren't you?"

Startled, I took a step back and reached instantly for my wand. Well... instantly is only loosely termed; honestly, it even felt like forever, to _me_ , had just passed when I finally reached it.

She deadpanned. "... I'd always wanted to see a sloth up close, but I think this could literally check that off my bucket list."

... shut up.

Chuckling softly, she adjusted the strap of her bag before placing a hand on my shoulder. "Relax, I'm not a threat. I only asked if you were a Dawn because I found it rather odd that I could sense your Essence without much effort. Even though it felt a little more like static, compared to when I've tried to sense others... yours just flooded through, albeit a little buffered. It's usually this way between our kind."

My shoulders dropped along with my hand as I tilted my head to the side, puzzled by her words. _Our kind_? What did she mean by that?

Still smiling at me as she dropped her own hand from my shoulder, she gave another, seemingly modest, shrug. "I'm a Dawn too."

I blinked... then I ran away.

"Huh?! Hey! Wait!"

Needless to say, I did not leave my room for the rest of the night; not even to sneak into the Kitchens to grab myself something to eat. Instead, I'd called out to Deesey and, both she and Libly, brought me my meal along with that of Atlas.

I'd never had a harder time savouring the deliciousness of an éclair.

**September 6, 1991**

Finally came our first Friday at Hog of Warts, and, apparently, it was a very important day for Harry and Carrot-Top, or so they'd told me; they'd finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

Tsk, kids... just get yourself a map already... or don't; better find yourself a trusty guide like _my_ Hermes— wait, what?

"What have we got today?" Harry asked that morning as he poured sugar on his porridge, the four of us sat at our table.

Again, as I had every other morning since Monday, I'd already eaten in the kitchens, fed by Libly and Deesey before being all but forced back up here by Hermione, who I couldn't help but glare at from my low perception with my head resting on the table. Over the past twenty minutes or so, Harry had attempted to fill my plate as he usually tried, but stopped once I'd started _throwing_ the food back at him.

We were to begin the day with our third Herbology class of the week, ensued by that of Magical Theory before lunch. After our lunch break, we're to spend two hours in the Dungeons with Professor Snake— Sna _p_ e in our first Potions Class of the term.

"Herbs and Theory in the morn', and Double Potions with the Slytherins after lunch," Carrot-Top grimaced. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them— we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us," said Harry.

Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor, but it hadn't stopped her from giving us a huge pile of homework the day before.

"You." I blinked, startled out of my overly-relaxed state. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

I glanced back and found that purple-eyed girl from yesterday standing behind me, staring down at me. Her gaze was rather intense, but there was seemingly no ill intent behind it, prompting me to relax further after assuring myself she was harmless... or rather that she meant _me_ no harm.

Deadpanning, I brandished my board for her to read. _What, me? Avoiding_ you _? No, of course not— I would never avoid some random girl I have never met before who just forwardly dispatched information that should not be so openly discussed._

"Huh; never thought sarcasm could be as equally effective through written word," she remarked, sounding somewhat impressed.

... what's sarcasm?

"Delilah has this thing where she can make anything work with mere writing," both Harry and Hermione uttered blandly in unison.

I deadpanned, yet again, then shrugged dismissively. _Honestly, it is probably my only talent._

The girl sighed, running a hand through her well-kept curls. "We need to talk."

I gave her a flat look. " _I see nothing prompting a need for a discussion between us,_ " I objected.

"If you're adamant in keeping it low-key, then fine, but we still need to talk it all over."

My flat look morphed into a halfhearted glare. " _You should leave, Miss Hunchback._ "

This time, she deadpanned, yet seemed mildly amused. "It's Gwenledyr, and the _actual_ meaning behind it is _the legendary daughter of Gwawrddur Hunchback_. I applaud you, though; you did your best to mess it up."

I gritted my teeth, feeling my fingers clench around the edges of my whiteboard. _Forgive me, I have never been any good at remembering names._

"You don't say," Hermione uttered under her breath.

"Thanks, but I admit it was pretty amusing to me," the girl— Gwendlwqdjqw— replied lightly.

Yeah... I'm not even going to try to remember her frick-fracking, long as fudgin' name— even Hermione's name is easier to recall, and Carrot-Top's as well. Learning names is too much work. Burns a lot of energy, and brain cells having to recall who is who; seriously, I'm still learning "Rin"... it _is_ "Rin", right?

... Carrot-Top.

"That's the first time anyone has made _that_ mistake, or even tried to make a connection with the meaning behind my name."

Well, ain't she a positive one.

 _Class is going to start soon, Genie, so bye._ I openly attempted to kick her out, but she was very persistent.

"We can meet after second—"

_That is my nappy-time._

"That's lunchtime!" Carrot-Top blurted out, giving me an odd look, which I returned a tenfold with a glare.

_Well, I use that time to sleep._

"Then after fourth—"

 _Sorry—_ not really _— but I cannot._

"Let me guess, nap."

Don't judge me; a girl needs her sleep. _You are catching on quickly, Genie._

"Okay, one— you sleep too much. And two; the name's Gwenledyr!"

_One, there is no such thing as too much napping. And two... too many syllables._

"Ugh!" She glared at me. "You can't avoid me forever!"

I shrugged as I stood and gathered my things; " _Forever is a long time, but I can give it a try._ "

As if on cue, before she could add anything else, I was literally saved by the bell that had rung in warning that the first class of the day was to begin soon. Glancing back at the older Hufflepuff, I inclined my head in a silent farewell before sluggishly making my way toward the large doors of the Great Hall with Hermione, Harry and Carrot-Top scurrying after me.

And so, began our first class of the day.

Professor Sprout was oddly chirpy upon greeting us; I'd gathered the old Hufflepuff graduate was a little... out there, rather fearless when it came to treating and dealing with her plantations of odd herbs and endless list of fungi— whatever the heck that is— but she was still rather stern in her teaching methods.

I'd managed to get away with falling asleep while standing a couple of times— don't ask how I managed that— but there was oddly ever a break in between practices. Our working stations were like a laboratory, with very little theory to work with and mostly just practice and experimentation. Despite my blatant disregard in most of anything, along with my life-long quest to remain forever listless... or as long as I can remain it, I found the course in itself to be rather interesting.

I put a little more effort into this course once I came to find that most, if not all of what was produced here was used in potions, medical and non, and if I learned just about enough, maybe I could concoct something that could help me during my animal transformations; I honestly doubt there was a spell for such a thing already. Also, we were taught, much to my surprise, an amplified alternative of the wand-lighting spell, which was said to mimic sunlight; apparently, the perfect spell to cast when dealing with... _lively_ plants like the infamous Devil's Snare.

This class was much more interesting than I'd initially given it credit for, if I do say so myself.

After the class ended and the lot of us were headed for Magical Theory, I ended up exhausting myself upon running to the appointed classroom in an attempt to avoid that Genie girl, whom I'd seen roaming about with that bronze-haired boy I had no name for. She had momentarily stopping to converse with the infamous Weasel twins, though as soon as she'd caught sight of me, she began making her way over, prompting me to make a dash for it.

When I'd finally made it to safety, I settled at my self-appointed seat and relaxed myself, resting my chin in the palm of my hand as I waited for the second class of the day to begin.

It was another fifteen minutes or so before my classmates, most of whose names I cared not to remember, finally filed into the classroom, each taking their respective seats, Hermione settling to my right, with both Harry and Carrot-Top settling behind us. I remained still, in my previous position, chewing at my lower lip which had momentarily jutted out in a pathetic attempt at a grimace as I felt my arm beginning to tremble slightly under the weight of my head.

Still, I remained unmoving, even when I felt Hermione's gaze settle on me.

"Delilah."

I blinked.

"You should at least take out your textbook..."

My nose twitched as the desire to sneeze left as soon as it came.

"The lesson is about to start."

I blinked.

"... Delilah, listen to me."

I breathed in softly through my nose, feeling my eyes fluttered when, suddenly, I startled myself gasping rather _loudly_ upon feeling a cool finger poke at my wrist, my entire limb having fallen asleep upon remaining unmoving for such a long time; you'd think after nearly a week of this happening constantly, I would've learned my lesson and stopped doing this, but... well, try telling a listless person to stop being listless, or... yeah, that's all I got.

The class came and went, and before I realized it, it was lunchtime; I was, however, in no mood to move from my seat, never mind my drifting limbs.

"Delilah, you've got to stop that!" Hermione complained. "It's no good for you."

I hummed silently. " _It sure happens a lot, does it not?_ " I mused, despite my discomfort.

Hermione gave me a flat look. "Like I haven't noticed."

Through my habit of falling asleep nearly everywhere I went, I came to find that if I fall asleep with my face down, my arms get all numb and then I can't move them. I considered leaning against the window beside me, but after the first time I tried, I gave up that option; my eyes had miscalculated the distance and I'd ended up hitting my head against the wall really hard. I also found that if one rests their chin on their hands, eventually, it becomes quite a difficult posture to hold and your joints will be in pain.

Even for someone like _me_ ; honestly, it really sucks when you just want to relax a bit. Ugh, what a pain...

"Being listless sounds surprisingly hazardous," Carrot-Top deadpanned.

"For once, I agree with him," said Hermione. "How about you just stop?"

I slowly dragged myself to my feet. " _No_." I slowly shook my head. " _No_."

Slowly, the four of us piled out of the classroom after everyone had already left.

" _Hermes..._ "

"No, you should've stayed awake."

My lower lip jutted out, my shoulders slumping slightly. " _Please..._ "

"No, and I told you it's Herm _ione_ , not Herm _es_."

Brows furrowing slightly, I turned to my next victim. " _Harry..._ "

Hermione frowned. "Delilah, you're being ridiculo—"

"I will do anything for you, so long as there's chocolate," Harry stated.

The four of us came to a halt as we stared at each other, my lips twitching slightly at his response. After a moment, I felt myself nod in agreement as he handed me his rolled-up parchments filled with notes from the class we'd just had.

Hermione merely shook her head at us, muttering under her breath, "This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous," as we resumed our walk toward the Great Hall, only coming to a halt when I stopped short in my step upon hearing my name being called out in the distance.

"Oi! Delilah!"

Blinking, I turned to my last victim of our odd little quartet. " _I will give you one Galleon, eleven Sickles, and twenty-five Knuts if you wrap up some food for me and give it to me before Potions._ "

"... that is an oddly specific amount."

"Delilah!"

" _I will even stop calling you "Extra" or "Carrot-Top"._ "

"What?"

" _I dunno_."

"Don't you run away from me!"

" _So_?"

Wide-eyed as a deer caught in headlights, Carrot-Top instantly reached forward and we shook on it. "Deal."

" _Thanks, Ketchup._ "

"Hey!!"

And I dashed the heck out of there; I know I'm a sleeping, walking contradiction, but— well, no one likes confrontation.

" _Wow, you really dashed out of there, didn't you._ " Atlas squawked, seemingly amused upon seeing me enter my room. " _You know you're pretty much a sleeping, walking contradiction._ "

I snorted, rolling my eyes at him. " _No one likes a smart-mouth, 'Las._ "

He squawked yet again. " _Technically... I have a beak._ " I gave him a flat look. " _Also, Big D wants to speak with you after class._ "

" _I am_ so _not in the mood for business-talk or otherwise._ " I dropped my bag on my bed and shrugged off my robes before heading for my trunk to fish out some clean clothes.

" _It seemed pretty important._ "

" _Sleep is important, yet you do not see me requesting a meeting to discuss it._ "

" _That's because you'd probably fall asleep while requesting it._ "

" _... shut up_."

I scooped up my pile of clothes and left my room, heading for the bathroom. Soon as I walked into the empty quarters, I flicked my wrist like many times before and used my telekinesis to lift the bath taps of the pool-like bath. As the bath began to fill itself, I placed my folded clothes by the edge of the tub, behind the folded towel lying right by the rim, then stripped myself bare and dropped the bundle of newly discarded clothes beside the folded one before stepping into the bath, flicking my wrist yet again, pushing at the bath taps to stop the water from running any further.

After the last droplet fell into the pool of water, I closed my eyes and felt myself relax, relishing in the sensation of the tension releasing from my muscles.

About a dozen minutes soaking in the water, I flicked my wrist, like many other times before, opening the only window in the lavatory to release the heat and steam accumulated from the heat of my own body fused with the hottening water before washing myself thoroughly— soapy scrub along my skin, careful upon my scars and untangling the knots in my hair as I washed it with some shampoo and spoonful of conditioner (I just love its chocolaty smell!).

When I'd finished, I stepped out of the bath and dried myself off, watching ever so absentmindedly as the water drained itself from the once full bathtub. As sluggish as ever, I began the process of putting on my underwear then wrapping my chest before changing into my clothes, slipping my shoes on last before shrugging on my robe before reaching down to grab my discarded clothes, taking the towel I had used to continue pressing the water out of my hair as I made my way out of the lavatory and back to my room, where I dumped the lot in the laundry basket by my door before grabbing my bag and heading back out, not too surprised to find Hermione, Harry and Carrot-Top already waiting in the Common Room.

"Well, you sure took your sweet time," she commented with a hint of a smile.

My lips twitched slightly as I gave a shrug. " _Patience is virtue._ "

I'm going to be honest here— I still don't know what virtue is.

Hermione rolled her eyes and giggled in spite of herself before standing from her spot on the armchair by the fireplace and walking over to me. "We should go now if we don't want to be late."

I nodded, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. " _Could you...?_ " I lifted a wet lock of my hair, the emphasis to my question.

Nodding, Hermione lifted her hand and pointed her wand at me, twirling it twice as she uttered the incantation. "Fervens Aeris."

" _Thank you_." I felt my hair swiftly drying up and my lips twitched yet again as I relished in the softness of it, an after-effect of that hair-conditioner thing.

"Oh. Your tie is crooked. Let me..."

I blinked, barely fazed by this point as she came closer and fiddled with the accessory hanging from my neck until it was appropriately knotted. I inclined my head in thanks and she merely smiled in reply.

"No sweat." She shrugged. "It's lucky for you, I'm here to help."

My lips twitched yet again as I nodded, my brows furrowing slightly as I wondered what time it was.

"We still have a good forty minutes or so before class," said _Ron_ as he handed me something wrapped in what looked like tinfoil.

I inclined my head to one side, regarding the thing curiously before I perked up slightly at the smell of meat and tomato emanating from it. I dug into my pocket and tossed the redheaded boy two Galleons, grabbing the package as I removed my schoolbag and sat in my usual armchair by the fire, with the dazzled Weasel boy settling nearby, and Harry sitting by my feet, leaning ever so slightly against my legs.

I was utterly unbothered as the boys began to converse among themselves, wondering aloud whether Snape was actually as bad as many others made him out to be, as Hermione walked up behind me and began to tub at my hair a bit before I felt her beginning to do that familiar pattern of a braid. The whole while, though, my eyes remained on the packaging I was eagerly, yet slowly unwrapping bit by bit, perking up upon finding a chicken wrap of sorts with lots of tomatoes in it.

Odd as it may seem, I like tomatoes... seriously; I could eat them like apples.

"I noticed you liked them a lot, so I thought to put in a little extra."

I gazed up at Ron and regarded him appreciatively; thanks Ron, you have a keen eye when it comes to food.

The boys continued to converse with each other as I waited for Hermione to finish with my hair before I'd start eating. I was resting among the clouds as I relaxed in her touch, my eyes fluttering every now and again, my attention tuning in and out of their conversation, nearly as much as Hermione chimed in every now and again.

When she finally finished, she settled on the arm of my chair as I leaned slightly to take a bite off my wrap.

"Even if he does have a slight preference for his House, he still only _truly_ favours those who exceed his expectations."

Suddenly, just after my first bite, I stopped myself short upon feeling something akin to a thick liquid of sorts oozing down the side of my mouth.

Ron scoffed. "Right, because _anyone_ can achieve perfection; Mum says Potions is one of the most difficult magical arts to master."

Slow as ever, I lifted a hand over my mouth as another droplet of whatever the liquid was slid down the corner of my mouth.

Harry chuckled slightly. "Don't they call Snape a Master of Potions? It would be no wonder why he'd expect just as much from his stud— Lilah? Are you alright?"

Blinking sluggishly, I pulled my hand from my mouth, shrugging slightly, though leaning back slightly startled upon finding them staring up at me in alarm.

"Delilah! You're bleeding!" Ron uttered, surprised.

So _that_ 's what that trickle was.

"What happened?!" Hermione cried out, startled, before looking down at me in disbelief. "Don't tell you overexerted yourself by merely running here." I gave her a flat look; I'm not _that_ weak and pathetic. "I told you we should get you a nutritionist— I'm telling you, my mum's cousin has worked wonders on—"

I deadpanned.

"What the hell are you going on about a bloody nutritionist, Hermione?!" Harry reprimanded before turning to me, gazing up at me rather frantically. "Hey, Lilah, are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself too badly did you?"

I blinked. " _... I think the corner of the tinfoil sliced my mouth._ " I blandly gazed down at the wrap I was holding and regarded it disdainfully. " _Also... after thinking about it... I am not really hungry after all. I imagined it all._ "

An eerie silence ensued among us, and all that was audible was the crackling of the dancing flames in the fireplace.

"Will I have to return the money?" Ron suddenly asked, his lower lip jutting out as he regarded me with big eyes.

Harry and Hermione simultaneously gave him looks that could kill, prompting him to give an innocent shrug.

"What?" he uttered defensively. "It's a serious question!"

I snorted. " _Keep it._ "

I wrapped the food back up, feeling my lips twitch when Hermione slapped the poor boy atop the head upon him asking me if he can have my wrap then, if I wasn't going to eat it.

Odd bunch, we are. Somehow, though, it's like we're pieces fitting perfectly into a puzzle.

After wiping the corner of my mouth which had already healed by then, we gathered our things and began to make our way out of the Gryffindor Common Room, Tower and so on, wandering down the large corridors and staircase toward our final destination of the day.

Along the way, Harry mentioned to me having been invited by Hagrid for an afternoon tea in his hut after class; he'd already accepted to go, but invited me, nonetheless, to come as well. Personally, the idea had quite an appeal to it; though I was determined to keep living to my utmost listlessness until otherwise demanded by serious circumstances, I didn't really have anything to do, or anything but sleep planned, so, might as well take my job a little bit seriously. Especially since I heard Hagrid lived near the Dark Forest; apparently, there are some rather aggressive and territorial creatures rising nearby.

With a nod and a shrug, the four of us made our way down the final steps of our last staircase and entered the dungeons, where our last class of the day was to take place. I could feel the temperature in our new surroundings drastically dropping in comparison to the main castle, though I felt it might've been enough of a creepy sight without pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

I fought the urge to throw-up as the smell of all dead things all but slapped me across the face; though most were encased in either crates, boxes or jars, my sense of smell was very heightened and could therefore still catch such awful stenches.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... _celebrity_." It came out more like a sneer.

Why didn't I get that sort of acknowledgment? He all but skimmed over my name.

Dracula— I mean, _Draco_ Maleficent... whatever the heck his last name was, and his friends Crap and Gargoyle sniggered behind their hands like the b-holes they are.

When Snape finished calling the names, he put his attendance sheet down and looked up at the class; his eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of the latter's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. But despite the emptiness, his whole physique was somewhat familiar...

"Oh?" he mumbled in an afterthought as glanced over at me. I blinked, surprised by the very delayed reaction of his. "Delilah Hawkins. Our other... famous little novice."

What? Erm... okay... so _there_ 's that acknowledgment I hadn't received earlier. However, I did notice there was an edge to that stern, monotonous voice of his as he uttered my name, the complete opposite of what bitterness he'd relayed upon calling out Harry's name.

Shifting his gaze back around, he began the lesson with the norm of an introduction, addressing the class as a whole.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began.

He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but we caught every word— like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death— if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised brows as they turned to look at me. I merely shrugged a shoulder, fighting the urge to rest my head on my arms; I actually held a slight interest in this particular subject and wished to learn as much in it as I could— no matter how much I wanted to just sleep and laze about, I could not let my listlessness get the best of me here. I had to face it head-on... like Hermes, who was visibly on the edge of her seat, beside me, and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air. I rolled my eyes as I subconsciously slumped my back against my seat.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut— fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but, clearly, Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, yet again, upon seeing Maleficent, Crap, and Gargoyle, who were shaking with laughter, sighing through my nose as I opened my book and went through the pages, looking at the names of the various potions that exist.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

My lips twitched as I fought back a snort, while a good few other people just laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased. Swiftly growing somewhat irritable, I slammed my book shut, gaining everyone's attention, including Snape's.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione.

He walked over to me and asked me the same questions. I lifted my gaze to meet his cold eyes and blinked, regarding him with little to no emotion whatsoever, feeling suddenly sullen and dull as our gazes met. Ever so lazily, I dragged my hand across my desk until I reached my wand; by the way his brow was twitching, I could tell I was all but trying his patience. Giving it one quick swishing movement, ensued by a flick of the wrist, I lifted the rogue little piece of chalk lying on his desk and sent it straight to the chalkboard, where it wrote the answer formed, concurrently, in my mind.

 _Asphodel and wormwood make a_ _powerful_ _sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat_ _— a good remedy for_ _most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant_ , _both also referred to as aconite_.

_Now, I would personally recommend not questioning first-years on such advanced material— the likelihood of us knowing the answer is very low. Also, perhaps try a cheering charm or a laughing potion; honestly, it would not hurt to have a little humour either..._

Most of my classmates giggled at my last comment, visibly ticking him off even further.

Snape clenched his jaw and frowned at me before turning to look at the rest of the class with that same cold facade of his. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for _your_ cheek, Potter." He turned to me again, with a mildly soft expression one could barely see. "Five points, however, awarded to Gryffindor House for Hawkins, for your... _good_ answer."

I blinked; honestly, he could've just let Hermione answer. I turned to look at her and saw her disappointed expression and grimaced, feeling unsettled at how misplaced that particular look looked on her.

Things didn't improve much for us Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put us all into pairs and set us to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils— I've got no idea what boils are, but at least I got to pair up with my bushy-haired gal. I would've felt something akin to worry had it been otherwise, but at least this way I can rest a little more while she drives on her determination; we're on the same team, so even though I'm mostly resting, everything she's doing will automatically apply to my grade... right?

 _Sigh_ ; I wish this type of system would be employed all over the world.

He swept around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Maleficent, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Maleficent had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Honestly, you'd think from the clear favouritism that he was his uncle, or his godfather, or something of the sort. At least that would explain his blatant preference for Spike over there.

All the while, Nev... Toad-boy had somehow managed to melt Shamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Toad-boy, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Toad-boy whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Shamus.

Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Toad-boy.

"You— Potter— why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

"Don't push it," I suddenly heard Ron mutter, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As we climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry seemed kind of depressed. I guess it had to something to do with the fact that he'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week— why did Snape seem to dislike him so much?

"Cheer up, Harry," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you two?"

I shrugged and turned to Hermione, but she was already walking away.

"I'll see you later, Delilah! I'll save you an éclair!"

I instantly gave her one thumb up and an appreciative nod before turning to follow the boys out the castle and across the grounds; Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. When Harry knocked, we heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out.

"Back, Fang, back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let us in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boar of a hound he had as a familiar.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

I liked it.

Though the place was small and cluttered, it had just enough of what one person would need, or, in Hagrid's case, what a half-giant would need.

"Make yerselves at home," he said, letting go of "Fang", who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears before coming towards me and settling down at my feet. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" I'm starting to realize I had the redheaded bunch's name wrong— how many more have I gotten wrong? _Unintentionally_ , that is... "I spent half my life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth— I didn't eat because of my lack of appetite— but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about our first-lessons. Fang rested his head on my knee and drooled all over my robes, but I didn't really mind; he was one of the likable mutts. Before I knew it, I was petting his head ever so absentmindedly as I tuned in and out of the conversation occurring before me.

Harry and Ron seemed rather delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git" while I didn't really care since, despite my muteness, I pretty much intimidated the man's cat, and without the damn feline, there wasn't much he could hold against me whether I tried something or not. Honestly, it would take a hydra with many of his head to frighten me, and even then I may just laugh instead.

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris—" _"Mrs."_? The Mister must've been so tired of their crap to stick around any longer... "— I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her— Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to _really_ hate _me_."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

I felt there might be something more between the lines, considering how it seemed Hagrid couldn't quite meet his eyes when he said that? I would've pondered further but, as has been proven a few times before, my interest in... well, anything is very limited, only ever extended to what is most convenient to me— _gods_ , I am perhaps the _worst_.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot— great with animals."

Clearly, Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy and showed it to me. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

**Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.**

**"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.**

I remembered Ron telling Harry on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

I felt my lips thin out, my lower one jutting out slightly as by habit as I recalled the meaning behind that particular date, my eyes softening as I lifted my gaze upon Harry, who was seemingly very absorbed by the contents of the cut-out.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry and I read the story again. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen. Had whatever he'd retrieved been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry, Ron and I walked back to the castle for dinner, them being idiots by weighing down their pockets with rock cakes they'd been _too_ polite to refuse, I thought that I seriously had to speak with Grandpa D, no matter how much I didn't want to talk business.

However... that can wait— there is a delicious éclair awaiting my arrival.

**September 11, 1991**

I will admit, I... _appreciate_ Hermione, but she's frankly a very exhausting person to be around. She had this edge of feistiness, though, that, I felt, was compatible with me, despite how downright plain my actions and reactions were. Despite my listlessness, there was still quite much we had in common. We both loved reading, even if for completely different reasons. We both sought to gain more knowledge and, despite my lack of motivation, we were both pretty clever witches if I do say so myself.

However, putting a mute with a very talkative person... you can see how something's wrong there, right?

It was nearing the end of the school day, most of my fellow first-year Gryffindors walking the same way toward the North Tower for our before-last class of the day. As I dragged my feet along the stone floor, trailing behind my bushy-haired companion, I kept zoning in and out of her one-sided conversation about whether spells would have the same effect they do on witches and wizards upon being cast on a Muggle, when _someone_ showed up again.

I'll be honest, I personally have nothing against Maleficent, but he is seriously starting to get on my nerves as this wasn't the first time he'd just joined us out of nowhere. Sadly, I can't punch him in the face because I'd probably damage his vampire face beyond repair with a mere tap.

"Hello, Delilah," he greeted me with a smile on his face.

It was an odd sight to find him smiling rather than smirking maliciously as he usually did; I'd barely known him little over a week, and yet it was no secret he was trying to live up to his House's reputation, both as a Slytherin and a Maleficent... I'm pretty sure it's not that, but whatever. There was a "Mal" in there somewhere. Surprisingly enough, Thing 1 and Thing 2 weren't flanking him either.

I shrugged to myself, dismissing the affair immediately. _Oh, well_. As a listless person, my motto, which I'd heard someone say once in some very faint memory of mine, before the... _sack_ , was "Minimum damage, minimum effort"... or something like that. It's not like I was getting paid to stand up to bullies, so why should I retaliate to something that wasn't directly done to me?

My little Hermes, on the other hand...

"What do _you_ want?" She glared at him, almost sounding as snobbish as the boy himself looked.

He merely chuckled, seemingly unaffected by her accusatory inquisition. "I was wondering if Delilah needed any help with her books," he said.

I stopped short in my step for a moment, staring at him, then glancing down at my bag, and back and forth once more before shrugging carelessly and handing it over to him.

 _I thank you, but you do realize we are not even going to the same class, right?_ I deadpanned, brandishing my board for him to read.

He shrugged, adjusting the strap on his own bag hanging from his shoulder. "It's on the way."

The three of us started down the hall once more, ignoring the obvious looks we were receiving; frankly, I didn't get what the deal was and could only shrug off the attention, zoning yet again in and out of the conversation that was now, surprisingly going civilly between Hermione and our new companion about what effect magic would have on a Muggle; Maleficent seemed like an expert on that subject. They conversed all the way down to Professor Alba-tooth-something's classroom, which was room 104 in that tower.

As we walked down the hall leading to our door, I began to feel slightly uneasy, despite my sluggishness, upon feeling as though someone was watching me. As much as I ignored it, the feeling did not altogether disappear, not even after the class had ended and I found Maleficent waiting just outside the door of our classroom.

I could tell Hermione still, clearly, didn't like him, and the feeling was far from not being mutual. However, for some reason, they put the effort into being civil toward each other. I don't know why they even tried; frankly, I would've just given up far before giving it a try, though that could just be my listless mind thinking on a roll.

Before long, it was dinner time, and the three of us were somehow walking together yet again. As soon as the three of us entered yet another set of doors, I heard someone calling me over. I glanced up and over and took a moment to realize we'd made it to the Great Hall where, from the Gryffindor table, Ron was motioning for me to come over. I inclined my head toward our Slytherin companion in thanks for walking with us and carrying my bag before grabbing it, letting Hermione drag me along to the long table, where we settled across from our redheaded and raven-haired classmates.

"Ugh, was Albatross' class a pain or what?" Ron uttered his annoyance, scoffing before scarfing down a spoonful of mashed-potatoes coated in gravy. "Also, Harry's been pretty ticked about you and Malfoy."

Harry elbowed him in the ribs, causing the redheaded boy to wince; ah, I see where the staring was coming from now.

" _He is like a strange puppy that has nothing better to do than follow after people who do not want him around._ "

"I don't like him either, but... harsh," said Ron through another mouthful of food.

" _But still true_." I shrugged. " _At least it is better than being openly rude._ "

I blinked, startled when Harry suddenly stood from his seat.

"Be rude! Be rude! Be very rude! Like with Dudley!" he said.

Ron, Hermione and I stared at him as he slowly sat back down. What has gotten into him? He's never encouraged me to be violent— _I mean_ , he's never acted this way before.

"Harry, are you feeling well?" Ron asked him. Harry didn't have time to answer.

"Evening mails' here!"

And sure enough, a whole flock of owls flew into the room through the windows. Packages and parcels began to fall from above.

"I've got a letter?"

I blinked, surprised upon hearing Harry say this. I glanced over and noticed he had, indeed, received a letter, encased in a golden-coloured envelop that looked oddly enough like the kind you would get at a non-magical office supplies store. I openly stared, watching as he quickly fed his owl— what was her name? Ludwig? I don't know, I just remember her name reminded me of that one composer I'd heard Mr. Arnold mention a few times...— before eagerly, but carefully tugging his letter open. My attention remained solely on him, curious as to who could've written to him— perhaps that weirdo with the fancy coats?? Or did he finally manage to make a friend after I'd left? I'm quite certain he would've mentioned said person, had that been the case, though. Perhaps—

Suddenly, I found myself distracted as a very pretty owl with feathers dark as night flew down and landed in front of me with one letter in its beak, another attached to his little leg. Dropping the one it held before me, it hooted then leaned forward, nipping gently at my fingers.

" _Now who are you?_ " I wondered, grabbing a slice of bread and crushing it into crumbs, holding it out for the beauty before me.

Yet again, the owl hooted before helping itself to a few crumbs. I regarded the creature, rather amused at its eagerness before blinking, mildly surprised when its reply came into my mind in the form of a slightly deep voice, an indication of its gender.

" _Arrow, Miss, family owl at your service!_ " He hooted, ruffling his feathers before nuzzling his beak against my cheek as soon as I'd leaned forward in my surprise, prompting me to raise a brow at him.

"What are you, an animal whisperer?" Ron asked, seemingly in disbelief at what could seem as a display of affection in front of others.

I gave him a look, rolling my eyes as I reached over and untied the second letter from his leg before opening the one he'd dropped to read the content inside.

_Delilah,_

_Meet me at eight o'clock in my office._

_Sincerely, A. D._

_P.S. I_ _myself enjoy a few Mars Bars every now and again_

"Who's it from?" Harry, Hermione, and Ron asked at the same time.

I shrugged, refolding the letter, choosing to ignore the message instead.

Jutting out my lower lip, I frowned slightly as I gathered my things, my lips twitching slightly as Arrow gently nipped at my cheek once more. " _I am full; I shall be returning to my quarters._ "

Harry regarded me disapprovingly. "You haven't even eaten anything," Hermione uttered, seemingly voicing his thoughts.

I shrugged. " _Not hungry._ "

Harry shot from his seat yet again. "But we haven't even talked—"

He cut himself short as a small silence ensued his trailed-off train of thought upon him realizing the oddity of his wording in regard to my inclusion. Uttering a soft, very awkward bout of laughter, he glanced at the three of us, seemingly uncertain of himself.

"So... we've got Flying Class tomorrow."

I sighed through my nose and rolled my eyes at the awkwardness behind his sentence.

" _Just sit down already, Hare,_ " I deadpanned. " _I will eat later. In the meantime, I am in need of a long nap. I will see you lot at tonight's Astronomy class."_

Without so much as another glance, I stood, shoving both letters in my bag as Arrow flew off, and made my way down the aisle of our table to the exit.

I didn't go meet Grandpa D that night, as was his request. Actually, I didn't even go to Astronomy.

 _Ugh_... I really need to reevaluate how I'm living my life...


	19. 8½ - Castle On The Hill

**July 16, 1980**

Her tiny, chubby hand reached up to the beautiful woman hovering over her as she tiredly babbled nonsense. The woman— her mother— let out a small chuckle, grabbing the small arm and kissing the palm of her hand.

"You really are a beauty, my little Lily-flower," she cooed, placing another gentle kiss on the small palm of her baby's hand, before letting out a small laugh. "Oh, my Goddess, I sound like James when he'd obsess over Lily."

The infant giggled, gleefully babbling nonsense as her hands fumbled absentmindedly with her mother's long, dark locks.

"You would've looked like him, you know."

She gently traced a finger under her daughter's eye. "You would've had those striking gray eyes of his..." She caressed the bit of black hair on her tiny head. "His dark hair, though I'm sure that is something you'll get eventually," she mused.

The babe glance back up at her, curious. She pulled on a curl from her head and stared at it wonderingly before looking back up at her mother, reaching out, wanting to touch the top of her head, only to fail rather miserably, prompting a pout from the small thing.

"Worry not, I have no doubt you'll even grow as tall as him... or, I guess, as me too, since I am fairly tall." She chuckled, a sad smile etching onto her lips. "You will be extraordinary... I just wish it wouldn't have to be under a guise."

She sighed, caressing her daughter's cheek. "Close your eyes, baby girl." The little girl caught her finger and began to play with it. Ella laughed, shaking her head as she pulled her finger away, causing the child to pout. "Close your eyes, _formosus_..."

"No!"

Ella blinked, deadpanning. "Of course that would be your first word..." she mumbled.

She sighed once more as she thought of ways to make the seemingly— _generally_ restless baby fall asleep. What did _she_ do when she and Rose wouldn't sleep? Or Dare— that one was one rocket of energy when they were kids. Suddenly, she felt her cheeks warming slightly as she recalled countless nights of the Doctor singing them to sleep, and even doing the same after her babe was born.

She grimaced; she'd loved singing a lot when she was younger because of her, but she was never really good. Honestly, even _James_ could carry a tune, and he was nearly tone-deaf. With a slight shrug, she relented when she felt herself melting at her daughter's constant curious gaze directed at her.

She began with a soft hum as she tried to think of a song, her mind coming up absolutely blank. Then, as her mind continued drifting, though involuntarily, back to her youth, the words began to flow out easily as she reminisced the past she'd left behind, relating it to a song the Doctor had once sung to her, so long ago.

" _When I was six years old I broke my leg. I was running from my brother and his friends..._ "

Her voice was thick and a bit throaty from long-time musical disuse of her vocal-chords, though she was somewhat relieved she didn't sound too awful; Delilah seemed to like it.

" _And I tasted the sweet perfume of the mountain grass I rolled down,_ " she sang softly. " _I was younger then, take me back to when I..._ "

For a moment, she trailed off as she thought a bit after, to when she'd met Lily and became friends with her almost instantly. When she met Laura, and Severus... When her relationship with Damian had ended after so long...

" _Found my heart and broke it here... made friends and lost them through the years,_ " she continued, voice barely above a whisper. " _And I've not seen the roaring fields in so long... I know I've grown... but I can't wait to go home..._ "

She was suddenly brought out of her saddened thoughts when a tiny hand reached up and caught a tear she hadn't realized had slipped from her eye. Her gaze dropped to the babe nestled comfortably on her nap and felt slightly amused when little Delilah began to inspect the tear jiggling on her tiny index finger, seemingly puzzled by this new discovery.

It was then that Ella had made her decision. She could not keep living a lie, and putting this beautiful creation of hers in the middle of it; she didn't deserve it— her _sons_ didn't deserve it. She would speak whence she once kept quiet, and she won't just attempt anymore.

She'll do.

It might be a slow process, but she won't hide anymore. She never should have, in the first place.

" _I'm on my way,_ " she sang a little louder, nearly startling the bundle in her arms with her sudden certainty and determination. " _Driving at ninety down those country lanes... singing to "Tiny Dancer."And I miss the way he makes me feel, and it's real..._ "

She didn't notice it but, after a moment, the babe in her arms seemed to be deadpanning as her voice gradually rose in volume, projecting the feeling and passion behind her words.

" _And we'll watch the sunset over the castle on the hill._ "

The Doctor was right when she said that "sometimes, you just gotta break into a song."

You end up finding your own answers to your doubts.

" _Rrrrrrrrrrrr..._ "

Ella was startled out of the song when the light purr of a snore suddenly snapped her back to reality. She spared a glance down only to deadpan when she found little Delilah fast asleep with a deadpanning look fixed unto her face.

_Of course..._


	20. 9 - One Step Closer...

**September 12, 1991**

Maleficent was annoying. I felt bad for Harry, who seemed to hate the guy more than his own cousin. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so we didn't have to put up with Maleficent much in general. Or at least, we didn't until we spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made us all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday— and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

I patted his shoulder in an awkward attempt at being sympathetic; honestly, this creasing distance between us is making it hard not to be awkward around each other.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Maleficent certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Spinach teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Shamus told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick.

Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Carlos... the dragon-studies brother... 's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Spinach constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly.

Toad-boy had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. Honestly, I felt she'd had good reason because Toad-boy managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Toad-boy was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book— not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday, she bored us all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_ — hey, I got it. Toad-boy was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the morning mail.

Frankly, despite the few good people in Harry's life, back in Private drive, I had expected he wouldn't receive a single letter, what with knowing how the Dursleys were; they would probably keep anyone from knowing where he _actually_ went and would've made up some bullshi _r_ t about how he's in some boarding school for delinquents or something. If _they_ ever _did_ write to him— and that's a big _if_ , it would probably just be a list of insults from Dudley.

Tsk, _honestly_ ; that kid has no filter.

I had noticed him send a letter out during our first breakfast here, but I hadn't known who he'd sent it to, nor had I expected him to actually get a reply. I could only assume, and not knowing made me wonder; I _did_ only felt curious when it came to Harry. Perhaps he'd sent a letter to _his_ Doctor— the only person precious to him in the world, it seemed.

No, I was not spiteful of her for that, nor was I of him for getting such parental care I longed for...

Case in point, despite this, Harry only ever really got the one letter every other day since the beginning of term. It was refreshing to see him brighten up at this, but clearly as sad as watching a rescued puppy rejoice over getting food.

I wasn't the only one to notice his lack of mail because _of course_ Maleficent would be quick to notice this too; the boy's eagle-owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

Contrary to what I had expected for myself, considering the fact that no outside... _acquaintance_ of mine knew where I was, I _also_ had been getting gifts of which I was slightly afraid; they were anonymous— who wouldn't get suspicious of that? From the looks of it, even Grandpa D didn't know who was sending them to me. I often got jewelry and clothing... but those were all things I wouldn't even dream of using so I'd passed them on to Professor McGonagall for inspection before giving them out to the other girls in my House after they were checked out for curses and such. When I got sweets, I would give them to the Weasleys and Harry.

I didn't want any gifts— except chocolates, though.

 _Of course,_ I'd keep those.

A barn owl brought Toad-boy a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed us a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things— this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red— oh..." His face fell because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

"You've forgotten something..."

"I just don't remember what."

I deadpanned. " _Obviously, because he forgot._ "

Toad-boy was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Maleficent, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. I lazily glanced their way then sighed as I slowly got up as well. They seemed to be half hoping for a reason to fight Maleficent, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Maleficent quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with lackeys behind him, but not before winking at me.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, me and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for our first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under our feet as we marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. I had heard the Carrot-Top twins complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Madam Hooch then arrived, just in time for the lesson to begin, scrutinizing us with those yellow eyes of hers like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

I glanced down at my broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles; I was sure to get blisters.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say "Up!""

"UP!" everyone shouted while I merely stared, deadpanning.

I looked down at my broom, narrowed my eyes at the thin stick meant to carry me and thought, " _Up_."

My broom jumped into my hand at once, being one of the first few that did, that including Harry's and, surprisingly, Maleficent's. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Toad-boy's hadn't moved at all. There was a quaver in Toad-boy's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed us how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting a few grips every few students. Harry and Ron seemed rather delighted when she told Maleficent he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle— three— two—"

But Toad-boy, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Toad-boy was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle— twelve feet— twenty feet.

I could see his scared pale face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp as the broom jolted uncontrollably. Quickly, I reached for my wand and pointed it upward in his direction.

" _Tardesce Statum!_ "

His broom gave another rigid jolt before coming to a sudden halt, prompting the clumsy boy to slip sideways off the flying stick. Without a moment's thought or hesitation, I kicked off the ground and zoomed up into the air and caught him on my broom before he could fall. But just as I hastily got him on, he somehow managed to take control over my broom and make it go crazy just like he had done just moments ago. Unable to keep a firm grip on the stupid thing, I fell off, hitting the right side of my body onto the statue below. I heard a nasty crack as I went through the impact and whimpered.

I looked up at the sky and, perhaps for the second time since my listless lifestyle began, reacted quickly, swiftly brandishing my wand with my uninjured arm and pointed it at Toad-boy, who was crash-diving toward the ground.

" _Immobulus!_ "

He froze in the air for a few seconds before he quickly started to fall, completely immobile.

... I should really read through the descriptions of every spell I learn; I just remembered the one I just cast really only freezes one's target— doesn't _actually_ keep them suspended in mid-air, even if for just a little bit.

The only reason he'd remained up there momentarily had been a sheer stroke of luck, but it was clearly not the effect I was after. Ugh! I should've read through the levitation spells; I had only skimmed through the incantations and skipped them altogether upon finding they weren't the best options to choose from to levitate one's self. At this point, I may just figure a way to create a spell that allows me to fly without a bloody broom, because, frankly, that would be awesome...

Also, there's less risk of a wedgie...

Matter at hand, though, I quickly rummaged through my brain looking for a better spell. Then I remembered.

" _Arresto Momentum!_ "

His entire frame along with the broomstick started following the movement of my arm as I slowly made them descend. The moment he touched the ground, everyone rushed over to me as I sighed in relief but then stopped myself short as, yet, another loud crack reminded me what I had been trying to ignore but seconds ago.

Oh, son of a— bull... shi _r_ ting... _sn_ itch!

**Harry's P.O.V.**

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

I glanced down at my broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say "Up!""

"UP!" everyone shouted.

My broom jumped into my hand at once just like Delilah's, but we were one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. _Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid_ , I thought; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed us how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. I was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years; one look at Ron and I could tell I wasn't the only one.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle— three— two—"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle— twelve feet— twenty feet.

I saw his scared pale face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp as the broom jolted uncontrollably. Then, the broom gave another rigid jolt before coming to a sudden halt, prompting Neville to slip sideways off the flying stick. Surprisingly, surely, not just to me, we all watched in shock as the usually very listless Delilah kicked off the ground and zoomed up into the air, catching Neville mid-fall and settling him on her broom behind her. Just as he got on, though, he somehow managed to take control over her broom and make it go crazy just like he had done. She fell off, hitting the right side of her body onto the statue below. I heard a nasty crack as she went through the impact, ensued by a rather loud whimper.

Everyone looked up at the sky. I looked back down at Delilah and saw her quickly bring her wand out with her uninjured arm and point it at Neville, who was pretty much sky-diving by this point without a parachute. Whatever spell she had done was useful, but only for a few seconds. He froze in the air before he quickly continued to fall, completely immobile.

She then did another spell that was entirely successful this time. His entire frame along with the broomstick started following the movement of her arm as she slowly made them descend. The moment he touched the ground, everyone— me and Ron being the first— rushed over to her as she sighed in relief but then stopped herself short as another loud crack emerged from her body. Then realization seemed to hit her.

Her eyes widened before she uttered the loudest, most ear-piercing scream I never thought possible to come from her as she clutched her arm in pain. Her scream eventually subsided as she all but passed out right then and there. Oh, God... if I didn't know any better, I would've thought she'd just fallen asleep because she had this strange talent of being able to do so anywhere, whether she was lying on the ground or standing, but after hearing her actual voice for the first time in such a bloody-murdering scream... let's just say my worry was all but skyrocketing over the highest roof of this castle.

Madam Hooch bent down over Delilah, face ashen with worry.

"Oh, my Godric... Broken arm and dislocated hip-bone... that'll be a tough one to endure fixing..." I heard her mutter. "Who knows what else she broke in that fall. Come on, boy— it's all right," she told Neville while carefully cradling Delilah in her arms.

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take these two to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch." Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, with Delilah in her arms. No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd be one for fat little crybabies, Patil."

"Shut up. At least she's brave enough to stick up for him, like Delilah was braver than you'll ever be and went to save his life!" Ron snapped, and for a moment, I think I saw worry cloud Malfoy's face too.

Quickly, Malfoy averted his gaze and changed the subject. "Look!" He darted forward and snatched something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," I said quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find— how about— up a tree?"

"Give it here!" I yelled, but Malfoy had leaped onto his broomstick and taken off.

He hadn't been lying, he could fly well.

Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

I grabbed my broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move— you'll get us all into trouble."

I ignored her. Blood was pounding in my ears. I mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up I soared; air rushed through my hair, and my robes whipped out behind me— and in a rush of fierce joy I realized I'd found something I could do without being taught— this was easy, this was wonderful. I pulled my broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

I turned my broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here," I called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

I knew, somehow, what to do. I leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; I made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," I called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

I saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rose up in the air and then started to fall. I leaned forward and pointed my broom handle down— next second I was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball— wind whistled in my ears, mingled with the screams of people watching— I stretched out my hand— a foot from the ground I caught it, just in time to pull my broom straight, and I toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in my fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

I was very confused over the next couple of hours, my mind everywhere at once; all I could seem to grasp at the moment was that my sudden skills narrowly got me out of detention and found me a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Seeker. The request in itself had been so nerve-wracking that I'd accepted before I could even think about it. I might've momentarily felt a tad bit better when Professor McGonagall mentioned she was thinking of asking Delilah to join in as a Chaser, but the feeling was short-lived as I recalled her sudden, extensive listlessness.

My nerves only shot to the ceiling when we arrived at the hospital wing just in time to find the head of our House conversing silently with our friend who had her arm in a sling and multiple padding of sorts covering her right hip. Though we stood by the door, we could still see her face was set in that usual deadpanning expression that had all but been sculpted into her face for as long as I'd known her as she gazed up at the Professor through half-lidded eyes that all but cried out exhaustion.

After a long moment of silence, Professor McGonagall sighed. "We shall speak further of this later, child; I understand you'd want to rest at the moment. Shall you need something, Madame Pomfrey is nearby."

Stepping away from the bed, she pulled the curtain around it close before turning on her heels and heading toward the exit behind us. She stopped for a moment and gave us a look, but continued on her way rather than calling us out on being here. The moment Professor McGonagall left, Ron and I rushed over to the bed followed by Hermione, who I just realized was here too.

I went first, peeking through the curtain. I pushed the curtain a bit further away and hesitantly leaned in a bit more.

Delilah was waiting for us, her face calm as always. The haggard, gaunt look was gone, but only a careful blankness took its place. There was no animation in her eyes that were now a very dark hue, an indistinguishable colour. It was hard to look at her face, knowing that she was in pain even if she tried not to show it; I knew her long enough to know that whenever she felt as such, her nose would cutely scrunch up and her right brow would twitch ever so often in her attempt to mask her pain.

I knew her well enough to know, by now, that the only reason I knew so much without knowing nothing all... that the only reason I paid attention so much was because I loved her. That was the only explanation for these feelings.

I'm eleven years old and I am madly in love with my best friend I hadn't for nearly an entire year.

Her body had been covered with a quilt. It was a relief not to have to see the extent of the damage. I stepped in as all I could see was her. Just her and I alone.

"Lilah..." I murmured.

She didn't answer at first. She looked at my face for a long moment. Then, with some effort, she rearranged her expression into the smallest quirk of her lips, grimacing slightly, though I couldn't help but grin slightly at her failed attempt at smiling. I was then startled when I suddenly felt the urge to kiss her, but I had no time to think any further as I was wrenched back and away from her.

"Oh, Delilah, I'm so happy you're alright," Hermione said going over to embrace her friend. Delilah flinched away and just as she did, she instantly froze for a second before groaning in her pain.

Hermione quickly stepped back, blushing furiously in embarrassment. "Sorry, I forgot you were injured."

Delilah nodded, lips quirking up slightly once more before she looked over at Ron.

"So glad you're awake, Deli. Can I call you Deli?"

She seemed pensive for a moment before she shrugged to herself, nodding.

"We've been worried sick; when Madame Hooch brought you in here, you were hurt pretty badly. Thought Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be able to help," he said, smiling softly, prompting, yet, another quirk of her lips.

It might've been a grimace rather than a smile. It might've been the smallest quirk of all quirk of lips.

But I found it endearing and extremely beautiful.

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

I felt like shit. Pardon my vocabulary, but that was the only way to put it. The arm I had first broken ten years ago, it just _had_ to break again, didn't it?

Professor McG— Aunt Nerva (what she can't hear won't hurt her) had come to see me as soon as I'd awoken to see how I was fairing and to request for my participation in the Gryffindor Spinach— damn it— team as a Chaser.

I, of course, _refused_. It's _so_ much _work_!

Despite my lack of motivation for most of anything else, I was very adamant to continue with my new lifestyle as a listless person. It required less effort, ergo, less risk of damage. The instincts of an alpha, though, were all but hardwired down to my very blood-cells, so it was very hard not to react when someone was in imminent danger.

 _Scoff_ — only _I_ would end up most injured in the end, though.

I was a little tempted to accept the offered position, if only to keep a closer eye on Harry, who had, apparently, accepted to become the new Seeker, but the instant Aunt Nerva insisted "it would be good for you to participate in extracurricular _activities_ ," I shut down the offer; I was not about to waste energy on such trivial affairs.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron then came to see me as soon as Aunt Nerva had left. I'd sensed their familiar presence mid-way through the very one-sided conversation with Aunt Nerva and I figured she'd heard their rather loud and unsubtle entrance too when she sighed through her nose and smiled slightly, amused. After promptly suggesting I further think about her proposal while I recovered, she left and the trio was quick to approach my bed, from which I could not see them yet, for Aunt Nerva had drawn the curtains upon leaving.

Watching them stumble my way, peeking through the blinds amused me to the point I found their approach to be rather funny. Harry came first, peeking through the curtain. He then pushed the curtain a bit further away and hesitantly leaned in a bit more. He stepped in and, for a moment, there was just the two of us here.

"Lilah..." he murmured; oddly enough, I found his suddenly timid resolve kind of... adorable.

Caught up in this new side of feeling, I found myself unable to answer at first. I'd never really found anything to be... "adorable," but in this instance, he was the very definition of the word... if I was right about what it meant... at this point I don't even know— there's a lot of words I don't know the meaning of. Somehow, though, despite my lack of knowledge, comparing Harry to the definition of "adorable" just made sense.

Suddenly, my mind racing with this particularly peculiar train of thought, I found myself putting some effort into an attempt to smile. I had a feeling I'd failed from the slightly amused grin that had lit up his face, but I didn't feel as disappointed in myself as I usually did whence I saw his smile.

I felt the warmth that usually enveloped my body spreading within me, specifically somewhere within my chest.

It was a nice warmth.

There was something about this place, about these people that just made me _feel_ again. Despite the nightmares I'd been having about my past, Hog of Warts and the people I was hanging around with were really making me feel almost... human. Like a normal human.

Suddenly, he was wrenched away.

"Oh, Delilah, I'm so happy you're alright," Hermione said coming over and was about to wrap her arms around me, but I instinctively flinched away and just as I did, I instantly froze for a second before groaning in pain.

Hermione quickly stepped back, blushing. "Sorry, I forgot you were injured."

I nodded, felt my lips twitch slightly, amused upon witnessing yet again this rather usual reaction of hers before turning my gaze toward Ron.

"So glad you're awake, Deli. Can I call you Deli?"

I thought to myself for a moment, then shrugged and nodded; I give nicknames to everyone I know anyway, so why not. The name is not far off from a Sandwich Deli Shop, but I guess it's better than me calling him Weasel or Ketchup— I really got to think through my mental nickname generator.

"We've been worried sick; when Madame Hooch brought you in here, you were hurt pretty badly. Thought Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be able to help," he said, smiling and I couldn't help my lips from twitching yet again.

I was an unusual person, but I felt I fit in well with this unusual bunch.

After that, the two decided to leave, leaving Harry and I alone yet again. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he came to sit onto the edge of my bed.

"How are you feeling?" he mumbled.

What a stupid question.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged my left shoulder, " _Madame Pom_ _egranate_ _is not sure about what else I need, so she is going with trial and error. I heal really fast but_ _, for some reason,_ _she_ _finds that hard to_ _believe. Think she overdid it._ "

"But you're not in pain."

" _No_ _t so much anymore_ _. At least, I cannot feel my injuries_ _._ "

I gazed at him fondly, touched by his concern, though his worry jumped onto me as I saw him suddenly drop his gaze. I reached my left hand out to him and tugged at his robes, silently asking him what's wrong.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this now... possibly never..."

I felt myself tense as his words, having a vague feeling of where he was headed with this.

"... but why did you leave, Lilah?"

I could feel my resolve instantly crumble at the crack in his voice as he stared at me with his big green eyes. I deadpanned momentarily, then audibly whined. This is not fair. How can he confront me about this when I was... _stoned_ and vulnerable and simply unable to move further than inches away in this stupid cot?

I know I'm being a bit of a coward and a hypocrite, but think all the way back, for a moment, and compare our lives.

Can you blame me for being... afraid? For wanting to avoid painful thoughts and memories? I may be an alpha by nature's right, but I'm still just a kid. However brave I try to be, however prideful I wish to remain, the part of me that withholds my humanity still makes me very human; as such, I can still feel fear, no matter how much I'd rather deny it.

Dropping my own gaze, I leaned back against the pillows, grimacing slightly as I scooted further onto the bed, wordlessly inviting him to climb on. Without a second thought, he settled his bag on the side and climbed on till he lay beside me on my left, staring at the ceiling, same as myself.

" _I did not mean to_ ," I replied after a moment, my lips parting with a sudden sense of longing.

"But you still did."

" _But I still did._ "

For a moment, it was silent between us as both our gazes remained away from each other.

"You could've written to me. Let me know what..." Suddenly, his hand latched onto mine. "I thought you were dead."

" _I..._ " A sigh whisked through my nose as I closed my eyes. " _I think... for a moment... I was. Who I am, though..._ what _I am... it kept it from being permanent._ "

"What happened, Lilah?"

One year, and yet... I still had no answer for that. I don't know what happened. I don't know _what_ Mr. Arnold was that brought such a mound of insanity to tear at his mind and push him past a breaking point. Perhaps the grief and loss of his wife was the trigger, but I knew for certain it wasn't what drove him to commit all those atrocities.

" _You remember_ the _change._ " He was silent for a moment before humming in affirmation. " _It was sudden... and so out of place. There was something there, but I could never see it. I could never figure it out. I tried, but by the time I began to put the smallest of pieces together, it was too late._ "

"... Lilah?"

" _He tried to kill me that night, Harry._ "

For a moment, that answer hung heavily in the air, creasing the building tension. You could almost hear a pin drop by the entrance, the silence was so profound. After a minute, I willed my eyes to open and dared a pear over to my left; Harry's face had gone so pale white, having stood up and taken a step back in his shock— I had half a mind to stop there.

He wanted answers though, and who was I to say he didn't deserve them?

" _He followed me into an alleyway, where there was a group of armed men. To this day, I cannot tell what pulled him into that state, nor how he got out of it... but after they shot me, he was back to how he used to be. He tried to go after them, but all that abnormal state he'd previously possessed was... gone... in the blink of an eye._ "

And then, so was he.

I blinked, mildly startled upon finding my sight suddenly blurry as droplets slid from my lids down the sides of my face.

I hadn't realized I was crying.

" _Miss Kathie had been in town for the week, and she was the one to find us. There was no funeral, and thorough questioning had briskly gone by, and she requested it be kept low-key. After that, she decided to take me back to the orphanage with her... and I could not find it in myself to refuse._ "

"... I don't think anyone would've been able to," Harry mumbled, taking one step closer. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't think... I just... I saw all the blood and... you were both gone, and then the news..."

Pushing my pain aside, I shifted in my spot till I lay on my uninjured side and nuzzled my nose against his cheek in that familiar manner I used to do back when I lived across the street from him, in Privet Drive, when we would lay just as we currently were, in my little tree-house, staring up at the night sky in wonder.

" _I am sorry, Harry,_ " I whispered into his mind. " _I am, truly, sorry for leaving you... for breaking my promise._ "

He glanced over at me with the slightest quirk of his lips as he, too, nuzzled his nose against my cheek, much to my surprise.

"But you didn't."

I blinked, pulling away in my confusion. " _What?_ "

"You didn't break your promise."

I stared at him, baffled as I mutely watched round the bed and stand a few ways away from my side of the bed.

" _What are you talking about? Of course, I did; otherwise, we would have still seen each other for that whole year after. I left you—_ "

"But not entirely by choice, right?" I blinked, regarding him dubiously as pushed myself up until I sat. "" _I will be back for you; this promise, I shall never break._ " I heard you that night. But after what I saw... I was scared and confused, so I instinctively pushed that to the back of my mind."

I found myself leaning forward ever so slightly when I noticed he had tears falling from his eyes.

"A part of me knew, though," he uttered softly, taken yet one other step closer, his tearful green eyes boring into mine as a smile etched unto his lips before dropping his gaze, yet again. "I had my doubts, even though my Doctor reassured me, time and time again. Eventually, though... I started to have this feeling that... somehow... someday we would, in fact, see each other again..."

I blinked, startled as the tears all but flowed like waterfalls from my eyes as he smiled at me with such purity, such innocence... such _forgiveness_. Dammit, Harry— only _you_ could find a way to slither within the cracks on the walls around my heart...

Curious as to how he could possibly know this, I leaned forward ever so slightly, then reached forward with my free hand, placing a finger right under his chin, pulling his face up till his gaze met mine once more. " _... how?_ "

Leaning forward even more, he nuzzled his nose against mine and smiled yet again. "Because, Lilah, _we_ 're meant to be."

I blinked once, then twice, though before I could inquire what he could possibly mean by that, my hand went limp and dropped unto my lap when the space between our faces had suddenly reduced entirely as he placed his lips upon mine.

I had no idea what to do.

I was startled. Baffled. Unsure of how to react, even more so when he brought a hand up to my cheek as he pressed his lips a little harder against mine. What the heck was this? What did it even mean? It didn't disgust me, nor did it make me uncomfortable; I feel I'd have to actually know what it was to feel either way.

I, truly... just had no idea what was going on, or how to react.

Suddenly, he pulled away and I, oddly enough, felt cold and empty at the sudden absence of his skin against mine. Though I didn't know what had been, or what he'd meant by it, I suddenly yearned to feel it again— his lips against mine; despite my oblivion to most of anything, including what had just occurred, I'd felt a warmth in my core, much like I'd usually felt when in his mere presence. But this time, it wasn't like the small flame of one candle, but the warmth you feel when laying by a fireplace— warm, soothing... _right_.

I wished to ask... but what would I ask for? I didn't even know.

Before I could think further ahead on the matter, he abruptly stood from the bed, head hanging and shoulders drooping as he wordlessly scurried out of the room. I blinked, startled yet again, feeling uncharacteristically stumped as I sighed softly through my nose. My throat tightened as my lips parted ever so slightly, my gaze not once wavering from the, now, closed-door, a sudden cover of sadness blanketing the dissipating warmth in my core as I suddenly heard a voice I knew and yet had never once heard before. The sadness only creased within me as I was left taking this step alone, left to hear it all on my own, for he was already far gone.

"Harry..."

**September 20, 1991**

**No one's P.O.V.**

Neville Longbottom stood nervously behind a visibly exhausted Delilah, hunched lazily over the dining table, brows scrunched as her gaze remained over an evasive Harry. Sitting beside them, across from each other, Hermione and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable glance as they noticed the tension and the poor boy standing by, uncertain of what to do with himself.

"... erm... Delilah?"

A whine came from the girl, startling those nearby. The already nervous boy could only feel his nerves skyrocketing as the sloth of a witch took all the time in the world to merely turn around, her arm still wrapped in bandages despite all the time that had passed, her reaction seeming to be mostly out of defeat rather than pure laziness as had been her norm.

Dull eyes staring blandly up at him, Neville regretted almost instantly coming to find her. Though the listless girl never really expressed much of anything, there were moments where the clearly superior witch's stares made one feel as though she were looking down on you as nothing more than an "extra" person in the crowd.

Literally, she would often write on her trusty little board, _What do you want, extra?_

Kind of like she was doing at this very moment, holding up said object with that exact question scribbled upon it.

Clearly, she was in no better mood than she had been for the past week.

Precisely, it was barely over a week after the new moon, which, already, speaks for itself.

Despite having made amends with Harry, Delilah's friendship with him had seemingly strained even further than it'd been after reuniting at the _Hogwarts Express_. She couldn't explain what was going on, for even she didn't know it herself; being less listless didn't mean being any less ignorant— _she_ would know. The tables had seemingly turned, with Delilah being the one to try and approach him more often than she'd like to admit, rather than it being the other way around as it used to be. But every time Harry looked at her, his face would redden and his eyes would sadden, and she'd be left in an even deeper puddle of confusion.

It didn't help that both, Hermione _and_ Ron, kept pestering her about it, in their own separate times, even less the fact that she was days away from the full moon; the cramps and aches had begun at full blast, and her mood had gone completely haywire, it was literally hard for her to numb it down and be her usual, deadpanning self. On top of that, she had her oestrus to worry about as well, which only made her physically and emotionally even more sensitive, amplifying the pain by x-amount of times, it was so unbearable.

She was at odds with what she ought to do, and feeling helpless always left her feeling bitter as well, and no amount of niceness from anyone would change that.

Not that anyone knew this, especially not Toad-boy, it seems.

"I-I never got the ch-chance to th-thank you," he stuttered, fumbling with the sleeve of his robe. "Y'know..."

She blinked. _I do not_.

His face reddened. "F-for our first flying class."

_I did nothing in our first flying class._

Boy, was she being relentless because of it all.

"When you caught me, last class!"

She was a tad bit startled when he didn't stutter this time, but nonetheless bored of this pointless conversation whilst worr— _pondering_ over other things.

"Well... I-I wanted to m-make it up to you... somehow..." He was silent for a moment as he, too, pondered before he finally looked back at her. "W-what are you doing t-tomorrow after classes... o-or in between?"

 _I_ don't _know._

He frowned. "Do you know what you're doing tonight?"

_Nope._

"In three hours?"

_No._

"Now?"

_No._

"... with your life?"

_... No._

"Don't take this the wrong way, kid," the very unwanted presence of a certain purple-eyed Hufflepuff wandered up behind her, surprisingly, shadowed by the very quiet Ravenclaw who seemed to be the only other person Delilah tolerated. "She's adamant nobody likes her, so she would rather avoid her."

The tall Ravenclaw stopped his reading to look down at her with a raised brow. "And you would know this how?"

She shrugged. "Woman's intuition."

"You'd have to be a woman for that."

"Why you—"

Surprisingly, the introvert of a Gryffindor was rather opposed to the Hufflepuff's statement. People disliking Delilah? Sure, she was often a bit rude, or rather dismissive, quite literally referring to any who weren't Harry, Hermione or Ron— yes, she had finally learnt his name— an "extra." She also never really put effort into anything, which included interacting with her peers. If anything, whence she would seldom feel up to making any effort, she would _run_ from them instead, the very random Hufflepuff being one she would mostly run from.

In spite of it all, she was quite nice, lending a hand to those who would need it, when no one else would. Doing _something_ when no one else would.

Like jumping onto a broom to save his life, despite having never flown before.

"I like her," he could honestly admit.

Delilah, oddly enough, seemed to prefer the opposite. Blinking, her nose scrunched slightly as her board was lifted once more.

 _Yeah, that_ 's _not necessary._

What a moment to articulate with contraction.

Come second Thursday after the new moon, she skipped classes and locked herself in her room, unintentionally proving this point.

She never went to see Professor Dumbledore for whatever reason he sought her out, all those days ago, though, at this point, it wasn't for the reasons others thought. She never even went to see Madam Pomfrey or Professor Snape for a possible remedy that would numb out her pain. She didn't care about anything in those days, just eating whatever Deesey or Libly could bring her and sleeping; she probably wouldn't be able to even bathe herself until she could actually stand and drag herself out of there after the full moon.

Because she was so used to spending this time of month alone, she was admittedly startled and surprised when Professor McGonagall suddenly came to see her, personally bringing her lunch.

This was probably the only time, every month, that Delilah ever pigged out over any food.

Professor McGonagall watched her as she ate, seemingly half amused and half worried at the girl's peculiar state, and only gained her full attention when she mentioned Professor Dumbledore had told her about Delilah's... condition.

Sigh _... way to keep my secret, Grandpa..._

"I understand you wish to keep this a secret." Way to state the obvious. "But I'm afraid one must sometimes compromise."

Delilah blinked, baffled.

"You are a student at this academy and, as such, it is our duty to look after you while you are within the confines of this establishment. I know _you_ may find this odd, but there _are_ people, here, who care about you. As such, we have dispatched this information only to a few more of our personnel."

The young witch looked up at her, eyes wide, panicked.

"Worry not, Miss Hawkins, for we took extra measures to make sure it's kept solely between us; they may not know the extent of your secret, but they have been made aware of what precautions to take for your well-being."

Delilah stopped eating altogether, pushing the plate away from her, her appetite drastically subsiding.

"Just so you know, aside from Professor Dumbledore and myself, only Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Snape have been made aware of your predicament."

She blinked, thinking for a moment; _okay... I guess, I kind of understood why Pom-Pom and Snape have been made aware of this, but Hagrid? What exactly would_ he _do?_

"We thought it best to include Hagrid, for he is most knowledgeable and... risk-taking when it comes to dealing with the supernatural... fauna."

_Nice choice of words, but I wouldn't have been offended if you'd called me a fantastical beast; that's pretty much what I am anyway. Also, I might just have been flattered at being considered fantastical— a little compliment here and there never did anyone wrong..._

"Both Hagrid and Professor Snape are looking for possible remedies that could help ease your transformations and relieve you from as much pain as possible— something a little more long-lasting than a simple pain-relief charm."

Delilah inclined her head, acknowledging her reasoning and agreeing halfheartedly, especially with that last part; the pain before and during the transformation is unbearable. Like many other things, she had no word for this monthly phase she had to endure for the past three years since it'd begun little less than a year after her first shift, her oestrus beginning but three months right after it. All she knew was that, while she was physically pained, for the most part, the oestrus, which happened every three months from what she'd counted so far, left her hot and bothered to the point where she could simply not avoid phasing come full moon.

It was like that monthly blood girls go through, but about... fifty levels higher, the phase replacing the blood. What's worse, for her, is that she actually had to endure _both_.

 _Stupid puberty and hybrid genes; can't all of us girls just_ not _bleed monthly? Honestly, at this point, I'd rather be an ingrowing, flat-chested_ child _for the rest of my life than have to endure such monthly torture..._

She was _so_ not looking forward to experiencing this in her adulthood.

**September 21, 1991**

It was all blazing, practically burning her up to near suffocation; she almost felt as though she were standing right before the flames engulfing her little once-upon-a-time villa, and they were swallowing her whole.

It was prickling, stinging, itching and altogether bothersome, though she simply could not rid herself of those feelings no matter how hard she tried. They weren't but a little sting of a paper cut you could forget after covering it with a band-aid, nor emotions one could simply push to the back of one's mind; though it might've appeared more psychological than anything, or seemed fickle and superficial, the pain was very real and hard to endure.

It was like being prickled with hundreds of needle-sized fire-pokers at once, along the whole of her body, _as well_ as in parts one would rather not have anyone else touch. Like receiving all those scars Christophe Adams had given her over the years, but at once, with dozens, if not hundreds of white-hot knives piercing into her very core, all at once. Like being hit by that torture curse that was part of the "Unforgivable Curses" is what they called it. The pain was so intense and utterly excruciating at times, that there were moments she would lose herself in her own hysteria, nearly losing all awareness, be it of her surroundings, or even who she was.

She could faintly recall hearing her mother speaking of this to one of the girls back home, who had been in her early adolescent years at the time— Jerako was her name... or something. She hadn't been part of the pack per se, for Delilah could recall all faces, if not the names, of those who had been a part of it.

That girl would often appear, seemingly out of nowhere, just to speak with her mother, or sometimes just to come see Delilah; she'd held a very odd infatuation for the, then, toddler, nearly worshiping the grown the young witch crawled on, openly smitten with her.

Delilah never minded her, though it was always the conversations the girl had with her mother that caught her attention. At the time, she had yet to know what pain, physical or otherwise, felt like. She had yet to know what it meant, though she heard the word repeatedly as her mother would explain from experience what it would be like to go through this "Oestrus."

To go through the Heat Cycle.

That cycle was something all animal shifters went through, be it soul-shifters like themselves, or regular one-animal-shifters, or even those filthy wolf skin-wearers, though the male shifters were always the fortunate ones when it came to that, only having to endure about twice a year when it begins for them before it eventually evens out to once every year.

Women, however, as Delilah came to find shortly after her first shift, weren't as lucky. First of all, as women, they had to deal with their monthly bleed that came with reaching puberty... whatever the heck that was. She didn't know what it meant, but she knows it had something to do with growing up. Even the oestrus itself, she had no idea what it the heck it was for— causing her so much unnecessary pain...

She could faintly remember her mother telling Jeriku... that girl that it was a period in which one's sexual arousal and related activity were heightened for procreation.

... those were a _lot_ of words, most of which Delilah knew not the meaning of. She was only eleven, after all, and being mute wasn't exactly a trigger for conversations. She never had "the talk" she often heard the older kids complain about— she was an orphan. Who would give her this so-called "talk"? The Adams? Now _that_ 's a laugh.

Other details she could recall were things like how the duration varied per person, and how the Heat begins a few times a year, twice at minimum, and would last anywhere between five days to two weeks, but would, _eventually_ , regulate to once or twice a year, _at least_ , after the first two to four cycles, narrowing down to an endurance of four to seven days _at least_.

 _However_ , it has been exactly three years since she'd had her first Heat, and to this day, at the age of eleven, she has had exactly _ten_ freakin' cycles, _including_ the one she was currently crawling through, and the pain she endured during those periods was all but amplified at least sixty percent of the time because she _also_ happened to have her monthly bleed roughly around the same time!

What did she do to deserve all that pain?

 _Finally_ , though, almost as if by a miracle sent by the Goddess of the moon, Delilah discovered something that would lessen her physical distress, though she also found it to be a weakness of hers she had never been aware of;

Aconite.

Whether it was an allergy from her more... _humane_ side or a reaction to the part of her that was a shifter, or her body as a whole was simply still too weak to handle its toxicity, she could not tell.

She found it did the oddest of wonders, however, against the Heat she was in.

Despite the fact that aconite physically weakened her and all but rendered her delirious, it completely numbed the pain induced by the Heat, reducing it to nothing but the discomforting aches all over her body. Her elongated canine teeth didn't completely return to normal either, kept extracting and retracting every time she opened or closed her mouth, though that was the least of her issues.

What bothered her most was the itch in her nose and the ache between her thighs, both of which had only seemed to intensify with each passing day; the closer it got to the full moon, the more pain she felt. It had gotten to the point where Snape had begun giving her regular dosages of Draught of the Living Dead, as such that she could sleep through the pain, rather than conscientiously endure it.

Despite this treatment, which— much to her annoyance— was getting in the way of her "lying-around time," she began to grow much more irritable, snappish and somewhat aggressive as the days rolled in. Her somewhat feral reactions were all but flooding to the point where Professor McGonagall could no longer visit her alone; she would have to go with either Snape or Pomfrey, especially after she'd become uncharacteristically wild upon their first encounter with Professor Quirrell ended with her attempting to bite his head off.

No joke, that really happened.

The man nearly pissed his pants, and McGonagall could only feel mildly grateful he wasn't aware of the specifics of the girl's predicament to go into a stuttering rant about it in front of the other students, but she couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, was it that set the young sorceress off like that. Delilah didn't know what it was either, but there was just something about that turban-headed man that made her want to sink her canine teeth into him and perform the most gruesome operation imaginable on him. It also didn't help his case that he came at the worst time, _and_ was brought _into her bedchambers_ , nonetheless.

She was always somewhat feral and out of her mind the first two to three days of her oestrus. Then, she would act much more needy and whiny, than anything, driven by a sudden longing and need— what for, she could never tell. Her nose would itch more than anything, seeking to catch a whiff of something, but she could never find this "something." She would lay submissive, though barely aware of this sudden receptive stage.

Once, the mere smell of trees and chocolates would fill her with a tinge of content. Alas, the wood surrounding the Hog of Warts was all but overflowing with magic— some of it so dark, it was sickening, and not even the feeling of freedom she would get upon running phased into one of her soul-animals could alleviate such repulsion.

Now, there was that yearn for the unknown that made her mind and body restless, itching at her nostrils and prickling and furthering the phantom pressure between her narrow, bony hips.

Gods be good; less than two days remained before she would deliberately phase and the pain would begin to subside.

There was little less than twenty-four hours before the full moon was to rise, and it had become much more than she could handle.

**September 22, 1991**

Harry was worried, to say the least.

It was almost as though the tables had turned for them, with him running away at every chance he got. He was luckier, though, since she was a lot more understanding and let him have his space... either that, or she was just too lazy to run after him. Honestly, knowing her, it would probably be the latter...

He knew he hadn't exactly reacted in the best way, distancing himself so much in all suddenty right after they'd just made up, but he was too embarrassed and ashamed to face her after what he'd done that day.

And to add salt to wound, that stupid... _Ken doll_ kept trying to get closer to her as well!

Thankfully, Lilah wasn't all that impressed by Malfoy's attempts to charm her... either that, or she couldn't tell that he was trying to charm her. _Honestly, knowing her, it would probably be the latter..._

Now, though, it had been five days since Harry had last seen her, including all-day that Sunday, and it wasn't from his attempts to stay away. And considering the fact that not even _Hermione_ had seen her... needless to say, he was utterly worried.

Was it because of him?

Had his reaction been so bad that he'd hurt her without realizing it? Though he'd come to know her well enough upon being close friends with her, there was still so much he knew he had yet to discover; it's hard to figure somethings out, especially if said things are about a mute. It didn't help, either, that she had taken to being much more expressionless than she'd been whence living in Privet Drive with the Harrisons. At this point, she wasn't even trying; it's like she was just so unmotivated, so...

Listless.

_Oh, boy..._

As afternoon came and went, Harry found himself openly staring at the bushy-haired girl who seemed to follow Lilah everywhere, as an idea began to construct itself in his mind. She was deeply focused on whatever monster book she was now glued to, her right hand peeking out every now and again to delicately lift her spoonful of food; boy, was she dainty.

At some point, Ron had nudged him into eating, but Harry could only keep staring as he tried to come up with the best way to approach the subject in mind.

"No."

Harry blinked, startled by her sudden response. "What?"

"No," she repeated simply.

Harry blinked owlishly. "But I didn't even say anything!"

Hermione lifted her eyes from the page she was reading and glared at him. "You don't have to, I know what you want and you're not getting it."

God _s_... had Delilah taught her how to read minds or something?

 _Lower lip jutting out_ , Harry frowned, dropping his fork beside his plate. "Why not?!" he whined.

Hermione groaned. "Do you _ever_ listen when a teacher, or _anyone_ of authority speaks to you? Goodness, it's like everything goes into one ear, but shoots right out the other in a matter of _seconds_." Memorizing what page she'd stopped at, she closed her brick of a book and set it down unto the table before giving Harry her undivided attention. "There are _no boys allowed_ in the girls' dormitory. I'd get into trouble if I tried to help you up somehow; I could get _expelled_ , even if it's for a considerable cause."

Harry gaped at her. "" _Considerable_ ,"" he echoed in disbelief.

Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes before speaking with a mouthful of food. "I dou' an'one wou' ge' expe' fo' _tha'_."

Hermione's nose scrunched in disgust. "Perhaps you might consider finishing the food already in your mouth before adding more, or even thinking of talking."

Ron glared at her. "Jus' 'elp 'arry."

Nose flaring with irritation, Hermione slammed her book close, startling the pair as she shot to her feet. "I said no," she snapped, throwing a very steely glance toward the raven-haired boy, a tinge of envy curling her upper lip. "I'm not getting into trouble for the likes of you two, even if _you_ are her _best_ friend."

Flipping her bushy hair over her shoulder, she grabbed her brick of a book and slid off the bench before stalking her way to the exit of the Hall, without a second glance back. The boys stared after her retreating form, eyes wide with disbelief.

 _Finally_ swallowing, Ron shook his head. "She's mental, I tell you."

Still very worried about his absent friend, Harry barely paid him mind. "... right... mental..."

But Harry wasn't the only one who was worried. Hermione, in fact, had been dying to go see Delilah, though had opted against it after being warned off by Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey not to go see the girl until she, herself, left her room.

But how long was that going to be?

She hadn't shown herself for five days already, with no forewarning or sign that she was going to go missing, all of a sudden. Not only that, Hermione had had the hardest time falling asleep at night upon hearing the loudest whimpers and cries echoing in the night; it had been quite startling and worrisome, her roommates had taken to closing the windows at night now, rather than leaving them open for fresh air from the summer nights to blow in.

It actually wasn't until that same afternoon, after Harry's unsuccessful request, did Hermione build up the courage to see what was really going on. She waited for the night to fall and the waxing moon to rise into the sky before she snuck out of her dorm room and, with the wand-lighting charm as help, she walked the short corridor that led to the large oak door with the familiar name elegantly carved onto it.

She lifted her hand and hesitated for a moment before giving the door a quick, yet slightly feeble knock. She waited for an answer, but after two to three minutes of waiting, her only response was a faint thumping sound emanating from the other side of the door, followed by an odd sound sounding something akin to a muffled whine.

Brows furrowing with concern, Hermione leant further toward the door and knocked again, pressing her ear against the door.

"Deli? Delilah? Is everything all right?"

It was silent for a moment before the same whining sound resonated once more.

Biting her lip and glancing over her shoulder with another moment's hesitation, Hermione huffed under her breath as she made up her mind and turned the doorknob, pushing at the door, huffing when the latter wouldn't budge.

"Deli? Please let me in."

She had forgotten there was a charm placed on certain rooms by request, and as she and her roommates didn't have one for their bedchambers, it wasn't something she thought of consistently. It made sense, though, that Delilah had one for hers. However, there was also the fact to consider that the girl was not only mute, but an openly introverted mystery. She couldn't help but wonder what this meant for the mute witch's roommates, though...

"Deli?!"

" _... be... our... guest... Belle..._ "

She deadpanned. "... what?" Shaking her head with a sigh after hearing the door click, she turned the knob again. "I'm coming in," she announced before pushing the door ajar, wide enough to peek her head inside.

The room almost looked larger than her own, but she was quick to realize this was due to the fact that there was only one bed in the room, rather than five poster-beds. Did Delilah have the room to herself? That's so unfair! Granted, it was probably the best way to accommodate for the very withdrawn and mute girl. There must've been some other reason _s_ , but Hermione could ponder no further on the thought as her worry pushed her to walk further into the room.

"Nox."

She quietly extinguished her lit wand as her gaze shifted about, taking notice of how the room was quite a mess and all the windows had been left open, letting in the slightly cool breeze of the nearing autumn to flow in, blowing against the closed curtains. There was no one besides herself and that odd bird— was that a phoenix??— sat slightly agitated on its perch by one of the windows, pacing sideways on its poll; what an odd sight that was.

Suddenly, the door shut closed behind her on its own accord.

Hermione yelped and spun around to stare at the door, startled by its sudden closure, but what startled her most, with her back to the rest of the room, was the sudden pair of thin limbs encasing her small body in the most awkward and discomforting embrace.

" _..._ "

Hermione squeaked, absolutely frightened, her words stammering upon her inability to see much behind her bushy hair as she wiggled and squirmed in the person's somewhat tight yet lazy grip.

"W-ho— w-what— g-going on?!!"

" _... shh..._ "

Hermione stopped moving altogether as she heard her response, eyes wide in disbelief. _Did this person just shush me?_

She then felt her face grow beet red when she suddenly felt something nuzzling her hair— _someone_ 's _nose_ making its way to the crook of her neck before an odd sound akin to something between a hum and a purr came from the person behind her.

" _... hmm... comfy..._ "

Her eyes were wide, incredulous. "... Delilah?" she chanced, her voice barely above a frightened whisper.

" _... you smell, Hermes..._ " Hermione deadpanned. " _... old books... ink... sooo... comfy..._ "

Hermione huffed and frowned; the girl was clearly not well— she could practically feel the worrisome blazing heat emanating from the taller girl despite her own rather thick night-robe she wore over her night-clothes, it being the last layer keeping them apart.

" _... I... am going to keep you..._ "

Hermione's face went red once more, her eyes widening in surprise. In her embarrassment, she dropped her wand and brought her hand to her face in a futile attempt to hide her immense blush.

"Don't say stuff like that!" she cried out.

Struggling a moment longer, she finally managed to pull herself out of the girl's grip. Spinning in her heels, she was then startled into taking a step back when she found the taller witch with an increasingly worrisome, pallid complexion, cheeks flushed redder than the Weasleys' hair.

"Delilah! You _are_ sick!! Come, let's get you to bed."

Frankly, it had been hard to tell what reason she'd missed her classes for, during the near past week. Delilah was such a lazy and listless person, Hermione wouldn't have put it past her if she hadn't shown up simply because she hadn't wanted to. However, from what she'd gathered of the oddly close relationship the tall witch had with her equally famous friend Harry Potter, she felt she would've shown up either way, if only to be with him.

Despite the unusual strain that had creased between them as of late, however, Hermione had no doubt Delilah would still stick by the boy, just as he would by her. They were practically two sides of the same coin, and they seemed to hold a sort of understanding between them like no other. It was almost like they were soul mates— but that's ridiculous; there's no such thing as soul mates...

Right?

" _... you are sooo reliable, Hermes._ "

Hermione couldn't even find it in herself to be flattered. "Oh, shut it and do as I say already," she grumbled, grabbing unto the girl's long sleeve leading the girl toward the large bed in the center of the room.

The tall witch was unsurprisingly compliant, though as soon as she noticed where she was being led to, she pulled slightly at her wrist, not wanting to go to bed. She didn't like beds; they were too uncomfortable— the only soft thing she would accept would be her trusty yellow sleeping bag, but she was presently too out of her mind to think of it.

" _No... no bed... bed evil... to much... Heat... too... marshmallow..._ "

The girl drowsily shook her head before falling forward, so quickly that Hermione didn't even have time to catch before she hit the ground with a soft thump.

" _... hmm... cold... comfy..._ "

Hermione stared at her for a moment, incredulous, then shook her head before reaching over the bed and grabbing the half-fallen quilt and pillow, and carefully placed under the fallen girl for a better sense of comfort.

Delilah watched her with a half-conscious gaze, admiring how reliable and active the girl was in comparison to herself, which was quite the stark contrast. She watched with half a mind as Hermione searched her room a bit before pulling out an empty bowl from somewhere— she remembered using that bowl for water to wash her face in mornings, but she hadn't used it for a few days... mainly because she'd forgotten where she'd left it during one of her episodes... also because she'd been far too lazy to even look for it. Hermione grabbed a clean towel she found nearby and wiped it thrice for good measure before placing the bowl on the ground and casting the water-making charm. Delilah's lips twitched; they had yet to be taught this particular spell.

But this was Hermione.

"Aguamenti," she mumbled, pointing her wand at the bowl and letting it fill until it was about three inches under the edge.

Grabbing a few clean towelettes from the same drawer she'd found the other towel in, Hermione folded one then soaked it in the water for a few seconds before walking over to Delilah and placing it on her forehead.

Delilah blinked, staring up at her with half-lidded eyes. " _... somehow... I feel like I would give my life if it were for you..._ "

Hermione deadpanned, her face reddening yet again. "Don't say things in a misleading way."

Delilah's lips twitched yet again as her eyes fluttered close, enjoying the sudden coolness that came with the wet towelettes that Hermione was placing along any of her exposed skin.

" _... do you know how to cook?_ "

Hermione gave her an odd look. "I'm no expert, but I can get around. My mum's taught me most of what I know in that department."

" _And you like it?_ "

Hermione shrugged. "Well, somewhat."

" _And doing dishes?_ "

"That's kind of a requirement after cooking and eating..."

Delilah stared at her. " _..._ "

"... but I do sing while rinsing..."

" _... and_ w _hat about the seasonal house-cleaning?_ "

Hermione grimaced. "Once I start, I can't stop." Her cheeks flushed. "Especially the bathroom and the tub."

" _I see._ " Delilah looked at her for a moment longer. " _I would definitely... what is the word? Ah, I would definitely_ _... ugh, what is it called again? That thing where people legally unite as partners in an intimate relationship..._ "

Hermione blinked. "Marriage?"

" _... what is_ that _?_ "

Her gaze flattened. "A legally-binding union of two people in a romantic relationship."

" _That sounds a lot like what I said, so..._ yeah _. I would definitely do that with you..._ marriage _you..._ "

Hermione's eyes widened, her face flushing red yet again as she looked back at the girl, startled. "Goodness! I can't believe _you_ — just— _you_ 're— ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!"

Delilah shrugged a shoulder and lazily reached for a lock of the girl's frizzy hair. " _You would make a great... housewife— perfectly convenient for me._ "

"Shut up!!"

" _... but I do not even_ talk _._ "

"... ridiculous, utterly ridiculous..."

That familiar wheezing sound Hermione had come to recognize as a snort emanated from the sick girl, prompting the bushy-haired witch to roll her eyes halfheartedly before going to soak the towelettes anew, for they had quickly dried up.

The silence rang between them for a moment as Hermione tended to her fellow Gryffindor, soaking and placing the wet towelettes on her. After a moment, she reached for the hem of Delilah's shirt, looking to place one on her torso, when her hand was suddenly caught, startling her out of the somewhat comfortable quietude.

She looked up and suddenly felt herself quiver with nerves as she found herself staring into Delilah's eyes, which had suddenly phased from their usual orange-pink colour to a startling violet-orchid hue. For a moment, the drowsiness seemed to have left the mute witch as she stared at the bushy-haired girl ever, gaze more intense than ever.

" _... don't... touch... don't... look... not... there..._ "

Came the monotonous voice in her head, sounding more clipped and slightly more robotic than usual as Delilah's grip tightened on her wrist, Hermione was sure it would leave a mark. Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded fervently before attempting to pull her wrist from the other girl's grasp, alas to no avail as she shrunk under that fearful gaze which only lasted but a moment longer, however, before Delilah's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she flopped back down to the ground, uttering a startlingly loud groan.

Shaken out of her fright, Hermione leaned forward ever so slightly, peering down at her friend with worry. "Deli? Are you all right, there? Does it hurt that much? Where are you hurt? Tell me something— anything! Write it down— think it up like you usually do— just let me know, otherwise I can't be much of any help!"

Hermione yelped when the mute's groans suddenly turned into rather animalistic growls, jumping back when the phoenix flew down from its perch and reached its talons out to her, pulling at her hair.

"Ah! Stop! What are you doing?!" Hermione shrieked, batting her arms at the creature. "Get off, you stupid bird! Get off! Delilah's hurt— I have to do something!"

" _There's nothing_ you _can do!"_

The young witch stopped struggling, utterly dumbfounded when she heard the unfamiliar male voice ringing in her head.

" _If you want to be of any use, get McGonagall... or Pomfrey, otherwise just leave!_ "

Hermione blinked owlishly, staring up at the phoenix. _I've gone mental... absolutely mental..._

" _Go!_ "

Hurriedly, Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran for the exit, hesitating once more upon throwing one last glance over her shoulder at the pained mute witch before running out to seek whichever help she could find first. As soon as the door had closed behind her, the familiar flew toward his keeper, tugging at her hair with his beak.

" _C'mon, kid, pull yourself together!_ " The girl merely growled back, her response more instinctive than conscious. " _Lilah?! Lilah, I know you can hear me! Snap out of it!_ "

But Delilah was falling back into her own mind, unable to resist the effect caused by her great discomfort that only grew as that ache began to crease in between her thighs yet again. It wasn't any ordinary kind of aching you would get as a beginner cyclist. And it _certainly_ wasn't any sort of pain one would get from being kicked or punched down _there_.

She could practically feel her mind gradually losing all sense and sanity as her body shuddered and quivered in its attempts to endure the pain a little longer, though her endurance fluctuated as her canine teeth extracted and retracted inside her mouth, and the discomfort was growing to the point where she became too volatile to be handled.

It got to the point where not even a mythical bird with surprising supernatural strength could keep her down, his keeper slamming him into the nearby wall with a mere swat of the hand before flipping her bed over in her animalistic haze, running off through the closed door, leaving the imprint of a small body behind to greet the Head of her House and Hermione whence she was far gone, seeking for "that scent" that suddenly seemed to be calling out to her.

Dizzy, the phoenix twitched momentarily on the ground before his wings fluttered as he jumped back unto his talons, his beady eyes widening upon finding the imprint of a body his keeper had left in her wake.

"... **_shoot_** ," he cursed before quickly soaring into the air and out one of the open windows, hoping he could get the Headmaster's help.

Meanwhile, the bushy-haired witch had made it to the door of the Head of her House, waking many dormant portraits with her smalls fists pounding at the wood in despair. To say Professor McGonagall was startled upon seeing the little witch at her doorstep, tear-stricken and fearful, was an understatement.

After a sobbing revelation of what had occurred in her fellow Gryffindor's room, the two rushed back to the portrait of the very frazzled Fat Lady who warned them the mute little witch they sought to find had left, running off in a frenzy and nearly tearing her open in her volatile attempt to leave the tower.

In the midst of the chaos that seemed to be alerting all the residents in the Gryffindor tower and egging students to avert their nosy noses to the Common Room where a very frantic Professor McGonagall spoke in hushed whispers with a rather groggy but very alert Madame Pomfrey and, surprisingly, Professor Snape, who, mind you, shouldn't be there considering he's from a different House, a certain first-year golden-boy had sleepily begun his trek out of his room and toward the spiral staircase, planning to head to one of the bathrooms in the boys' dormitory, zigzagging in his sleepy haze.

With all the noise going about, it was a wonder neither of his other four roommates had awoken, himself included. Dean, Seamus and Neville had been startled awake momentarily but fallen back to sleep almost instantly, the latter passing out in fright rather than falling asleep. Ron, Harry had learned, was a deep sleeper... a snorer; he'd reckon not even a murderer about to assassinate him could wake the redhead from his slumber.

Perhaps the only reason he was one of the few to not give Delilah any shit about being lazy and sleeping whenever she can.

The only reason Harry had awoken was due to a nightmare. He'd always had odd dreams, but never really had nightmares before. During the course of his short life, he'd dreamt of his mother's death a few times, but even that wasn't much of a frightening nightmare, so much as a memory-flash, for he could only ever remember the green light that had brightly flashed the night of Voldemort's, apparently, ultimate demise.

This night, though it had only been a couple of hours since he'd fallen asleep, his worries had caught up to him and made him dream of that day Delilah had suddenly gone missing, little over a year ago.

There wasn't much Harry feared in the world, mostly because he never really had much to go on to feel such a thing. Ever since meeting her— _Lilah_ , however, he'd grown to know and feel for everything he'd lacked as a human and felt fear at the mere idea that he might just lose the only _family_ he'd ever had.

All his life he'd done as told because that was what he was taught. He never knew what he _had_ to do, just _did_ what he was _told_ to do. Despite her muteness, however, Delilah, though quite indirectly and, perhaps, unintentionally, taught him that there is _always_ a _choice_.

You just have to take it.

But when she suddenly disappeared, all risk had swept out the window and into the wind.

He had no idea what to do. No idea what his next choice was going to be until the opportunity arose before him.

Magic.

Magic can do anything. After all, it's magic— what _can't_ it do? Receiving this news, though quite sometime after the horrible news of his best friend's disappearance, was alleviating. _Choosing_ to follow down this road, to learn this... art— this was, perhaps, the way to _bring her back_.

He didn't need to be a genius to know it might be dangerous. That it might get him into trouble. But it was _his_ choice to make, and he'd surely be damned if it didn't take it, in spite of the risks.

He would bring her back... he _had_ to.

The first time he felt any sort of genuine relief that was unlike any he'd felt before when he'd manage to escape fat ol' Dudley's hunts for him was when he saw her on that train. The roller-coaster that swept them off onward was a bit of a pleasant and not so ride as they discovered news sides of each other they hadn't known before when they'd been neighbours for little over a year.

But Harry didn't bloody care.

She was there. It was almost like magic— though surely not, but still. She nearly _died_. And yet, somehow, she was there.

For the time after their reunion, Harry couldn't help but unknowingly channel his father as he persistently chased after his friend, despite knowing he wouldn't be getting much out of the mute witch. He would nag her and smother her, and quickly he came to realize how the tables had turned in comparison to how it had been in Privet Drive. Sure, she didn't nag or smother— more like _mother_ him, for what else could a _mute_ do when quietly watching over?

Still, her behaviour was quite the stark contrast to what it was back then, and that frightened him, even more so after his mistake.

Mind you, Harry did _not_ regret what he did. Yes, he was a kid, but no one ever said you had to be an adult to be in love with someone. When they'd lived across the street from each other, he hadn't really known how he felt. He knew there was some odd connection between them from the moment they'd first locked gazes. She'd become the center of his hopes and dreams, the center of his world. He would wake up every day after their first meet, eager to finish with his ridiculously long list of things to do before he could go see the nearly ethereal little girl living across the street.

He was the first to notice how her lips didn't move when she "spoke" and so it would be their little secret. He was the first to see her attempt at a smile, to hear that odd yet adorable little wheeze of a sound whenever she tried to chuckle or laugh.

And she was the first to hold his hand. The first to glare and tell his pig-headed cousin off for being... well, a pig.

Losing this anchor, he feared, he would be utterly lost, perhaps more than he had been before. Slowly, this fear began to manifest itself into his dreams, he noticed; the more she distanced herself, the more they came. When he finally realized he had begun to distance himself, he came to a halt and did a double-take, adamant to stop this teeter-totter game going between them and be friends again, even if it meant having to forget all about that day at the hospital wing.

But then, she stopped showing to class for the near bouts of a week, and his nightmare latched onto him anew, waking him in the dead of night to the sounds of a loud, feral growl nearly vibrating the stone walls of the Gryffindor tower.

For a moment, he shuffled out into the hall, rubbing his eyes behind his round spectacles, groggily trying to rub away the fright that the bad dream had brought upon him. It was like a record of that day, from the moment he'd seen the news on the telly, to the instant he'd run across the street and slammed the slightly ajar door open to be greeted by the blood splattered everywhere.

He could almost hear her words echoing in her mind in that monotonous, somewhat generic— robotic voice of her that only ever spoke in certain people's minds when she wanted to.

" _..._ _I will be back for you... this promise... never_ _br—_ ** _Maaa..._** "

Harry came to a halt as his _thoughts_ were brutally interrupted. Brows furrowed in utter confusion, he frowned, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose at the soft voice that suddenly resounded in his mind, cutting into his flashback.

" ** _Maaa..._** "

There it goes again.

" ** _Bite... deep... must...... ma_** **...** "

What in the world?

Utterly perturbed, Harry rounded the corner that would lead him back to the spiral staircase. Admittedly so, the young wizard was quite frightened, wondering what the heck was occurring and whether he'd finally gone mental himself so as to start hearing voices in his head. The voice was ragged and far too deep and sluggish to be thus of a certain absentee witch. However, his answer suddenly appeared before him, startling him into another halt, glowing orchid-coloured regard boring into his own green orbs, its owner taking one preying step closer, a predator advancing on its prey with a calculating gaze.

The boy, stunned to silence, blinked and was rightfully puzzled when the owner of the odd-coloured eyes was nowhere in sight but was yet again startled by a pair of thin arms suddenly snaking around him from behind, tightly encasing his frame held up ever so slightly against the wall. The eyes had been a completely new feat, but the feel of those thin arms and blazing body-heat had long been engraved inside his mind.

"... De..."

His voice was soft and tentative as he chanced a glance over his shoulder, but the mute little witch didn't seem mentally present enough to respond. Instead, her glowing, feral gaze narrowed into a glower as her canine teeth extracted into frighteningly elongated fangs that swiftly sunk deep into the column of flesh at his neck. Eyes wide and unblinking, more out of horror than the sudden pain, Harry tried to scream, but the sound of his own fright was caught in his throat as he remained frozen in place.

As he grew weaker and more light-headed, Delilah sunk her teeth even deeper, practically nicking the bone. The Alpha inside her mutely howled in contentment as she lapped up the red droplets from the wound she had created, alleviating, though mildly, the aches all over her body.

Instinct yelled at her even further, urging her to hunt, capture, and mark. The souls spoke and told her to rest— she'd found _him_ ; there is no longer any need to search the world for him. Her mind was in a haze, driven by the Heat.

"... _Lilah_..."

The name was the snap that brought her back to reality, stumbling back as she was left to stare in horror at the sight before her. Glittering bright green eyes fluttered ever so slightly as its owner's pale lips curled up into a gentle, relieved smile, gaze wavering as it bore into her terrified one.

"... I'm... so glad..." He stumbled as he took _one step closer_ toward her; "you're... finally out..."

_Thump!_

" **Harry!** "


	21. 9½ - Harold— Harry Potter

**July 31, 1980**

"Would you quit fidgeting so much?!"

James Potter grimaced. "I am in pain, woman, how could I not?!"

Lily Potter lay center of the mattress, body shining and sticky from sweat scoffed at her husband, her face twisted in pain as she shrieked in anguish upon giving yet another push.

" _You_ 're in pain?!"

"You're squeezing my hand so hard, I think I might lose it!" he squeaked, mouth snapping shut as emerald eyes glowered at him.

"I AM LITERALLY PUSHING A HUMAN BEING OUT OF MY VAGINA!!"

The Doctor helping her labour briefly glanced up at the couple, golden eyes shimmering with mild amusement before she gave the fiery redhead an encouraging smile, a very faint tick-mark pulsing from her forehead as she grew irritation toward the pair standing behind her, failing miserably at hiding their snickers.

Goodness, she would definitely kick them, had she not been helping the young adult before her give birth.

"C'mon, Lily, you're almost there. Just one more push, alright? Just one more."

Instantly reassured by the older woman, Lily nodded, mouth open with pants before she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth before clenching her, huffing a few more heavy breaths before giving that final push she was instructed to make, the relief from the pain almost instant as soon as the newborn had been brought out from between her legs, her eyes grateful upon realizing such relieving effect was thanks to her friend and doctor.

Smiling back down at her, the older woman inclined her head as she passed the newborn to her assistant's waiting arms, the latter of which was gone in mere seconds.

"I cannot take the pain away," she let them know as she removed her apron and cleaned herself with the cleaning supplies she'd left on standby. "I can, however, numb it down, although you will undoubtedly be feeling drowsier and more exhausted than the norm."

Her lips curled into a brighter smile as her assistant was back at her side, with a very clean bundle of softness and chubbiness cooing softly as it drifted back and forth from consciousness. Taking said bundle into her own arms, she freed a hand and gently pressed a thumb to his forehead, right from center, and a mixture of a gold- and green-coloured glow whisked up from the gentle contact, blasting into the air in the shape of an enormous gem right above the pair before bursting apart, raining down like pixie dust, blanketing the small figure gurgling wonderingly in her arms, staring wide-eyed at the person holding him.

"I believe congratulations are in order," she mused as she approached the couple. "You two are now the proud parents of a healthy, freakishly adorable Harold Potter."

Gently cradling her baby in her arms, Lily went back through what the Doctor had said and looked back up at her with a slight smile, amusement twinkling in her emerald eyes inherited by the newborn she held. "... actually, it's just Harry?"

The Doctor blinked. "Really? Not even Henry? Or Harrison? I mean, Harry's a good name, but I feel that'd be a better nickname."

"I thought we were calling him Sirius," said namesake whined.

"We were never calling him that," the couple replied in unison.

"I like Harry," said the Doctor's assistant. "It rings nicely with his family name. Harry Potter."

James smiled proudly as he, too, gazed down at the little bundle in his wife's arms. "Harry _James_ Potter."

Lily blinked. "... darling, we never discussed the "James" part."

"It rings nicely with Potter!"

"You self-centred twat."

"... I'm pretty sure it's a bit too late to change the birth certificate now."

"... _WHAT?!_ "

"Oh, don't give me that look! I was almost convinced the "Harry" stood for something when you mentioned it."

"... in all fairness, we _had_ never fully agreed on the name."


	22. 10 - The Hall of Ween

**October 14, 1991**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

Hog of Warts was prone to gossip, I was quick to learn. Though the staff "in the know" of my secret had done well in keeping what had occurred the night before the last full moon just that— a secret, word had, inevitably, still spread bout how the Boy Who Lived had somehow been attacked within the safety of his own House, in what was meant to be the safest establishment in the continent. For some reason, people had it that I, myself, had been kidnapped due to all the days I'd been absentee from my classes. Frankly, I would be all for these rumours if only our schoolmates would just stop smothering us.

At this point, however, nothing could really relieve me from this stress, not even the most ridiculous rumours or the ever often-coming revelations; get this— Hermione and Ron had gone to meet Maleficent two nights ago for a supposed duel that was never going to happen, and found the three-headed dog that was safekeeping whatever the heck Big D was hiding in the castle.

 _Tch_ , idiots.

For my part, I hadn't left the hospital wing since Harry had been admitted by my own fault. The story he'd received was that I had some weird seasonal disease that acted up only a few times a year and lasted for nearly two weeks. I felt bad for upholding such a lie, especially omitting the truth from Harry, but I couldn't possibly tell him what I'd _really_ done.

I would take it to my grave if I had to, but he absolutely _cannot_ know.

By this point, I had grown impossibly number as I dreaded the consequences of my action, even if it had been instinctual and very much accidental. I must admit, though, that I am rather surprised at the fact that _that_ came to _me_ instinctively; I may be an alpha in all but name, but I was still very much a female, last I checked. This sort of instinct reaction usually only occurs to male shifters while the women wither in pain. And _I_ had to endure both.

How unfair.

I was so deep in my self-loathing and blaring irritation at the world that I couldn't even find it in myself to be the slightest bit amused when I'd caught the look of disbelief on Maleficent's face, yesterday, upon catching sight of the "blood traitor" and the "mudblood"— whatever the heck that means... though by the condescending tone he generally uses when saying them, I do have a bit of an idea as to what they mean...— as they followed me this morning to the hospital wing. I had tried to stay the night, but Madame Pomegranate had kicked me out.

"These beds are for the sick or the dead," she'd told me, prompting a cringe from my part at that last part. "Not for the lazy."

It wasn't good for me, she would tell me. She would basically parrot everything Hermione had ever said to me since we started spending time together in this school... except with more— very unnecessary— complex medical terminology.

Honestly, it was a wonder I hadn't walked out myself without being kicked out, but, well, priorities.

And I have only one.

Harry.

Being one forced to suppress most, if not all feeling while growing up as I did, I had very much difficulty pinpointing what I felt generally. I always had a hard time putting the respective names to this or that feeling, but whatever the heck I felt for Harry since we'd incidentally become friends little over a year ago was something I knew would never fade no matter what happened, and this included my little mishap from nearly a month ago. If anything, I think it might even grow into something... I don't know what, but I'm sure it'll be something, alright.

If only his curiosity for nearly _everything_ had more bounds to it. Like me; what keeps me from running away every day is my bottomless laz— _listlessness_.

Seriously, if those three idiots mentioned what might be hidden in the forbidden corridor one more time, I think I may just jump out a window and free-fall... freely.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

Yeah, because they would definitely have a quest-like dungeon and a three-headed giant dog for guard if it didn't mean _anything_ at all whatsoever. Despite my growing irritation toward my three companions, I was rather content with the knowledge that they just might never find out whatever is hidden in the school; two inches long for a description isn't much of a description at all. It could literally be _anything_ ; maybe some magical piece of chocolate that can give immortality or something.

"Miss Hawkins, might I have a word?"

I groaned mutely, slumping down in my seat by Harry's bedside. The other three turned to find our Transfiguration teacher standing by, gazing down at me expectantly; seriously, I could practically feel her eyes staring intently at the back of my head, nearly piercing into my skull. If she had that superhero laser-vision, I would be dead.

Now, you may be wondering why, after nearly a month, we were still here; after all, this was a school of magic, and surely magic was powerful enough to heal anything, right? Right?

Wrong.

Had the... _bite_ been brought on by _anything_ else, it would have been a considerably easy fix— Harry would've been in and out in a day, three days tops. It seems, however, that what I am played a dangerous role in the lot; it was so bad, to the point where part of the staff that was aware of the predicament had to go as far as owling in a Muggleborn wizard who was, apparently, a surgeon in the mort— _Muggle_ world.

Harry had remained unconscious until a week and a half after the incident, and, by then, I had long chosen to stick by his side, having barely budged if only to use the washroom and bathe myself. I'd barely even eaten throughout the entire time, but, then again, when do I ever really eat a lot? Even after two months in this school, my portions have yet to increase.

Having pretty much nothing to do other than stare mutely at the one I was meant to protect and, instead, attacked— or rather, I was too laz— _listless_ to do much of anything else in the meantime— I was quick to find how irritated my Head of House had grown with me as I had all but stopped coming to my classes; apparently, it's one thing to be truly sick, but another to miss for someone else when said other person was already missing himself. I could tell she understood what it is that I felt after what I had done.

What was the word again? Ah, that's right. It was "guilt." I felt guilt... _y_ for what I had done. I don't know if there's a way to reverse such a terrible mistake, but hopefully, I would be able to make up for it one way or another.

"Miss Hawkins."

Fine, geez. No need to use that tone with me.

With a silent huff, I reached for my whiteboard before I rose from my seat and purposely dragged my feet across the floor as I followed the Deputy Headmistress out of the hospital wing and into the corridor. I had a bit of an idea as to why she required my attention; ever since our first flying class, after having appointed Harry as this year's Seeker of the Gryffindor team, she'd been pestering me about joining as well. Apparently, I gave the feeling that I would be a good Chaser.

Of course, I refused.

For one, it would get in the way of my listlessness. For two... I don't chase; if anything, I run away. That wouldn't work.

I was rather surprised to find that girl who was practically chasing _me_ all over the castle before I had stopped showing my face outside the Gryffindor Tower or the hospital wing. She looked rather... _smug_ as she stared down at me with a smile, probably at the fact that I couldn't just run off at this moment with Professor McGonagall right there.

Irritated, I brandished my board with my response. _Fine, I will join the sports team— can I go back now?_

This prompted a rare smile from the older woman. "As glad as I am to greet this news, that is not why I brought you here."

... damn it. I really dug my own grave there, didn't I?

"You are quite behind in your studies with the month you have absented yourself from your classes. Now, naturally, I would ask our very own Prefect, but seeing as he is busy with his own studies and his duties as such, I had to make do otherwise."

I blinked. _Okay, but why is_ she _here?_

"Well, as Miss Denholm here is quite a bit ahead in her own studies and has already been through what you are learning this year, she has volunteered to help you catch up."

I blinked once. Then twice.

Then I grimaced.

"Now, now, Miss Hawkins, none of that."

She handed me a parchment with a list of subjects to tackle. Needless to say, it was a long, _long_ list.

"Now, there are roughly forty minutes left before the next class, and I do believe you have Charms next, yes? By the end of this day, I want to have heard that you can, _at least_ , manage well with the sever and mending charms."

My lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as I lifted a hand in protest, but she had already turned her back to me and began her march away, leaving me with the very annoying hunchback.

"Again, it's _the legendary daughter of Gwawrddur Hunchback_ ," I was disappointed to find she was more amused than offended by my effortless attempt at an insult. "And the name is Gwenledyr."

" _... you need a nickname— there is no way I am going to remember all of that_."

"Huh, you're right, don't know why I never thought of that." I don't appreciate _your_ sarcasm, Hunchback. "Walk with me."

Reluctantly, I followed after her as she headed down the corridor, further away from the hospital wing.

"Maybe I should go with Lidia," she uttered wonderingly. "Lidia Denholm— has a pretty nice ring to it."

I snorted. " _Yeah, no one is going to call you that._ "

She threw me a sideways glance as we continued down the hall. "Cute snort. Seriously— _adorable_. Didn't know you even had it in you." I deadpanned. "So what about you then? There's gotta be something better than Delilah— sounds too... _serious_ ," she asked me as we reached the entrance of the Great Hall.

I gave her a flat look before turning to the busy room beyond the open doors, feeling my stomach flutter with discomfort as numerous eyes from all four long tables turned my way.

" _Why are they staring? What are they staring at? Why are they staring? Did I already ask that?_ "

She chuckled. "They're staring at you."

I blinked. " _Why are they staring at_ me _?_ "

The third-year Hufflepuff gave a slight shrug. "Word's been going around that you're a cockalorum, smell-fungus, ninny-hammer, moon-calf face," she uttered gravely. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure a lot of these people really _do_ hate you."

 _Hate_...me _...?_

I blinked yet again; I had no idea what any of those words meant, but I had the feeling I should feel at least a little offended. Gaze dropping, my shoulders slouched as I turned my back to her and frowned at the toned ground, trying to think hard as to what the heck that apparent insult meant.

 _Sigh_ — wait... does that mean _everybody_ hates me?! I never wished to have people sticking to me like those clingy kids back at Bellefaire, but to have people _hate_ me... hate is never a good sign.

I felt the girl suddenly tense as she rushed back to my side, rambling urgently, though I didn't pay her the slightest attention as I was lost in my shocked wonder.

"Hey! Hey! I'm kidding, Delilah! Really, everyone practically worships the ground you walk on— well, not _everyone_ everyone, 'cause that would just be plain weird— I mean, it's not like you're a messiah or anything..."

" _Kitchen._ " My train of thought was quickly interrupted as the smell of the very definition of deliciousness reached my nostrils from the hallway leading to the noisy Great Hall.

"... did you even hear a word I said?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. " _I do not even hear what I, myself, am thinking half the time; what would make you so special?_ "

"Huh," she uttered dumbly, then inclined her head in a quick nod, acknowledgingly. "Well, as I hear people say all the time but cannot spell, touché."

" _I am pretty sure the French can._ "

"Gwenledyr!" a voice called out from the entrance as we passed it.

"Hey, see? He can say it," she nudged me. "Why can't you?"

" _That would imply I actually cared, at all, to put in any effort._ "

"Hurtful." She huffed before turning her attention to the person that had called out to her. "Hey, Diggie."

It took me a moment to recognize the person she was addressing as the bronze... ish-haired boy who always seemed to be around her whenever she'd attempt to get my attention and chase after me, and a moment longer for the slight comfort to set in as he openly stared at me, his words seemingly caught in his throat.

The boy frowned. "Don't call me that."

Gwen...dlwqdjqw merely grinned and shrugged at him. Taking the moment as a distraction, I attempted to step down another corridor to get away, but my stalker was quick to snatch me by the back of my robes and pull me back to her side.

"We're heading to the kitchens; I'll see you after break, in Divination." Pulling me closer to her, she tutted at him. "Not so fast, Lilah."

I flinched and pulled myself out of her grip. " _Do_ not _call me_ that _._ "

She threw a glance over her shoulder down at me and stared momentarily before grinning widely. "Now I'm definitely going to be calling you that!"

" _Shut it, Hunchback._ "

"Okay, see, that's not fair."

" _Life is not fair, but you do not see me whining about it._ "

"No, instead you lay your lazy arse on the dirty floor by a fountain."

" _... okay, first of all, that is listlessness,_ not _laziness. There is a fine line between both._ " She snorted humorously, but I ignored her and continued. " _Second of all— how do_ you _even_ know _... or_ remember _that? That was well over a month and a half ago._ "

"I'm observant."

" _What you are is a stalker._ "

"Semantics."

Bidding farewell to her friend... whatever the heck his name was, she tugged on my robes and dragged me along the rest of the way, not once letting go of my robes. By this point, though, I had given up trying to escape, because I was just far too laz— _listless_ to put in much more effort.

Oh, who am I kidding? I was lazy, simple as that.

When we finally reached the kitchen, we were all but bombarded by Deesey and Libly, both of who seemed surprisingly relieved and somewhat ecstatic upon seeing me; I guess they had been wondering why I had not been calling on them anymore. To be fair, I barely spent any time in my room since Harry had been admitted into the hospital wing. If I wasn't dragged to the Great Hall by Hermione most of the time, or lounging lazily at the Tower, I would be by Harry's bedside in the infirmary.

The tutoring session began as soon as we were served, and it took the Hufflepuff nearly half the time we had to figure out we wouldn't get anywhere with lectures. I didn't even bother to deny my short attention span when focusing on pure theory instead of practice; if I wasn't actively doing something _physically_ , I was very much likely to fall asleep, even if I was sat in front of delicious food.

By the time we were halfway through our mealtime, I started practicing the charms I had missed in my absences; she would tell me what the incantation was, demonstrate the movement in a show of what it's meant to do, and I would memorize the effect and cast the charm myself. By now, it was not much of a surprise that I got most, if not all on the first try; after all, my magical core was fairly stronger than the norm due to my lineage, hence why my results would be more effective than that of other witches and wizards.

After having Libly fetch my stuff for class, I rose from my seat. " _Well, I guess I should leave for my Charms lesson._ "

"Wow, I didn't think a mute telepath could make a nearly robotic tone almost sound disappointed," she uttered, amused. "Though I guess we really do have some sort of connection." She grinned. "I knew I'd grow on you eventually."

I scoffed mutely. " _I merely lack motivation and any urge to attend a lesson, so do not flatter yourself, Gwendolyn._ "

Her brows furrowed slightly as her lower lip jutted out. "It's Gwenledyr."

" _Semantics. Goodbye._ "

Seemingly perking up, she followed behind me out the kitchen with an odd bounce in her step. "See you tomorrow."

" _Uh, I think not._ "

"Well, you think wrong. Later, Dahlia."

" _Delilah._ "

"Semantics."

**October 18, 1991**

Harry had finally left the hospital wing the day after my first tutoring session with Gwendlwqdjqw... with the annoying, bumbling extra little Hufflepuff. I couldn't run this time around because, apparently, I had to, at _least_ , put in if only a little bit of effort into behaving like a decent human being and like a true Gryffindor— brave and confront my problems rather than run from them.

Pft, _please_.

Though my preference was clear, I pushed myself a little more after it was decided that Harry would join us to catch up on what he'd missed upon being bedridden.

Amazingly enough, Ron put in a little effort from his part as well, and joined the little study group, though I was quick to find it was only because we were there; for a boy who's trying hard to be a part of the crowd, he really doesn't have many friends... if any... at all. And that's something, coming from me. Always being one to study, Hermione was quick to join us as well, sticking by my side like the loyal little pooch she was, though I noticed she was being a little more stubborn than usual, refusing to utter a word to Harry or Ron, even less spare them a glance. I could only deduce her irritation stemmed from Ron's constant babbling of getting back at Maleficent, and Harry agreeing wholeheartedly.

It seemed their prayers would be answered little over a week after.

It was the day after my first Spinach practice, and _gods_ — if I wasn't... whatever supernatural mixture... thing that I am, I would be sore all over for days, and probably overly nauseous from all those spins and diving and violent twirls in the air. Seriously, I wouldn't even be able to handle being a trapeze artist, even less flying on a stinkin' ol' broomstick.

That morning I felt... content, I guess. Glad— _relieved_ that it was the last class-day of the week, however not the actual last day of the week. See, apparently, there was lots of effort to put in order to play such a sport at one's best. One had to remain in top shape, alert and instinctively reflexive.

Now, being the listless person that I am— I _hate_ doing all that. I would rather lay for days on end, on the ground in the middle of the forbidden forest without food than fly around trying to score points throwing a weird-looking ball while trying to avoid another— sentient, mind you— weird-looking ball that spent every second of its pointless existence trying to knock you off your broom, be you one foot above the ground or _twenty_.

Yeah, I got a beef with that stupid Blue Jay, and I'm ready to beat it with the twins' batting clubs if it comes after me. I already broke my arm last month and dislocated the same godsforsaken limb yesterday because of that stupid ball; I'm coming for that little shi... _rt_.

 _Anyway_ , back to the happenings; early in the morning as all students had gathered for breakfast in the Great Hall, numerous owls flooded into the enormous chamber as the clock stroke eight o'clock as every other day. What caught most, if not everyone's attention was the two long, thin packages carried by three large screeching owls each.

I was admittedly just as curious as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped one in right in front of me and the other right in front of Harry, knocking his bacon to the floor. My attention was quickly averted, my lower lip jutting out ever so slightly as I stared at the slice of meat on the ground sorrowfully. What a waste...

My eyes snapped back to the parcels waiting to be tended to as the owls fluttered out of the way for two owls to fly in, one I recognized as Harry's familiar named Hedwig I believe, and Arrow, both dropping identical _gold-coloured_ envelops in front of each one of us before settling by us, Arrow nipping gently at my hand before hooting excitedly when I crumpled a piece of bread into crumbs for him to feed on. Smoothing a hand over his tucked wings, I felt my lips twitch slightly as I watched the dark owl eagerly eat his crumbs.

With a small sigh, I then shifted my attention to the letter and parcel before me. Curious, I reached for the letter first and carefully broke the wax seal in an "MK" imprint that kept the letter enclosed in the ivory envelope before sliding the letter out and unfolding it.

 ** _DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE_** , was the first thing I read, which prompted me to snort quite loudly, bring a few eyes upon me. I didn't recognize the writing, but the letter in itself let off a rather familiar scent that brought a curious tickle at the back of my head. I could only stare curiously as my fingers traced over the letters clearly written with a self-inking pen from the non-magical world rather than a quill.

 **_Hope this Nimbus serves its purpose, and good luck on your first match._ ** ****

**_Look after yourself, and Harry, and make sure to eat healthily._ ** ****

**_Don't do anything stupid. We'll see each other sometime soon._ ** ****

**_Love,_ ** ****

**_N MK_ ** ****

Those initials meant nothing to me, but the word just before had me feeling a warmth inside that I couldn't remember feeling before. I basked in the feeling as my fingers brushed over the word, tracing every letter written with care on the ivory paper.

 _Love_... I wonder—

"What is it?" I heard my Hufflepuff tutor utter, suddenly standing behind me. "Who is it from?"

Rolling my eyes, I huffed in irritation and quickly scribbled down my response before brandishing my board for her to read. _It is a parcel from_ _Noneya._

Her brows furrowed, clearly puzzled by the name. "... Noneya?"

_Yeah, noneya business._

"Serves you right for poking your nose where it doesn't belong," the familiar Ravenclaw uttered as he passed by us, his face stuck in yet another book.

He paused before me for a second and lowered his book, eyes swimming over the parcel on the table, then the open letter in my hand before looking at me, inclining his head to one side, his lips curling up ever so slightly in the smallest of smiles.

"Congratulations, kid," he said before lifting his book back up, sparing the annoying Hufflepuff a sideways glance. "Seriously, you should stop being so nosy... and imposing; it makes people uncomfortable, _Hunchback_."

My lips twitched, amused as I watched the boy leave before shifting my gaze back up to the girl, eyeing her with clear irritation. My resolve only momentarily dissipated when I heard from behind her, the bronze-haired Hufflepuff snorting, quickly covering his mouth in an attempt to stifle his chuckles when she threw him a glare before turning her gaze back down to me as I stood.

"Dahlia," she whined.

 _ Delilah _ _._

"Semantics." She shrugged. "Seriously though."

Seriously _, it is none of your business,_ was my instant reply, choosing to ignore her as I snuck another glance into the letter, lips quirking ever so slightly as I re-read the message written down in round, cursive writing, each letter large, round and clear despite being attached to one another.

I had a seriously hard time keeping my lips from looking like they were spasming as they twitched almost uncontrollably, my gut feeling a sudden warmth that almost left me feeling disturbed with confusion. What the heck was this feeling? Much to my mild relief and irritation, I was suddenly snapped out of the odd feeling by a hand swiftly snatching the letter from my hands.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously as he read through my letter. Ugh, rude. "I've never even touched one."

Yeah, well, you won't get to touch mine, you rude sack of ketchup.

I quickly snatched the latter back and stood from my spot reaching for the last slice of bacon on Harry's plate despite his protest upon realizing it. Stuffing half of the long slice into my mouth, I then reached for my broom, feeling rather eager to unveil the beauty from its wrap.

Following suit, the raven-haired boy stood as well and stuffed his own letter in his pocket then reached for his broom, but just as he was about to lead the way out, he came to a quick, sudden halt and turned to face me. With a gleam in his eyes, I was struck suddenly, taken aback when he suddenly reached up and snatched the other half of the bacon that was hanging from my lips, then stuffed it into his own mouth before turning on his heels and beginning his march out, followed a bunch of... groupies.

Honestly, they might as well be.

We were suddenly stopped halfway across the entrance hall, the way upstairs barred by Crap and Boils. Maleficent was sneering as he reached over and seized Harry's package from his hands and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

I rolled my eyes as Ron butt in, seemingly unable to keep to himself.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. They've both got one!" He excitedly reached over for mine, to which I responded with a flat stare. "What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned back at us. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," the blond snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Honestly, what are they, children? Wait...

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Maleficent's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," the Slytherin told on him.

"Deli too," Ron snapped.

... and now I'm craving a sandwich.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at us. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances. And what model is it?"

"They're Nimbus Two Thousands, sir," said Harry with a wide smile. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

I snorted, shaking my head as I recalled the story they'd told me. Frankly, I found Hermione's version of it much more... amusing; for an eleven-year-old goody-two-shoes, she knew some rather colourful words I'd never expect someone like her to utter. We were swiftly dismissed by the merry Charms teacher, and by the time we'd rather the top of the marble staircase, both Harry and Ron were all but howling with laughter.

"Well, it's not entirely false," Harry chortled as we reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall that day, I wouldn't be on the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind us.

Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

My brows furrowed, my lip jutting with disapproval as I stepped around them and reached for the clearly offended witch, gently steering her in the opposite direction, choosing to head for the courtyard we had first met at; it was generally empty around this time in the morning. The walk was silent as we walked down the long corridor, and I could practically feel Hermione trying to push down her offence with an attempt at an audibly one-sided conversation.

"Did you have trouble with your schoolwork for Magical Theory?"

I snorted; honestly, she should know by now that any lack of effort in doing the work is purely out of laziness. It also kind of helps I'd read a few things ahead of time before the start of term, so despite missing all those weeks of class, I was fairly knowledgeable in most, if not all of my classes. I only had a bit of difficulty in Potions, as it was a complex art in itself, Xylomancy— which, by the way, I found utterly useless— and Astronomy, during which I could not help but fall asleep in.

The class takes place at midnight— what else do they expect from eleven-year-olds?

I shrugged, adjusting my grip on my parcel. " _Piece of cake._ "

Speaking of which... cannot wait for tonight's dessert...

Hermione scoffed, though seemed somewhat amused. "You didn't even do it, did you?"

" _I do not even know where my book is._ "

"That would be because you placed it in my bag, last night, without noticing," she remarked, pulling my Magical Theory book out of her bag and holding it out to me. "Honestly, sometimes you are just too ridiculous, utterly ridiculous..."

Lower lip jutting out slightly, I grabbed the outstretched book and called on Atlas upon settling as we waited for the hour to pass before we could head for Herbology, I remained comfortable on the stone ground after my familiar took my new broom to my room and I let my bushy-haired companion vent out her frustrations.

For some reason, I felt an ominous feeling settling a sense of dread over me as I worried over what might come soon. Something was just not right, and I didn't know how to go about it.

Oh, Goddess, help me...

**October 31, 1991**

I had never been so busy in my entire life. Now, I haven't lived long, but it's still been a long time so far. Up till the ambush that destroyed my villa, I hadn't been much of a hard worker, mostly because I was still in my toddler years. The Adams held no care for such matter and seemed to hold no qualms against child labour. They had this saying going in their household—

"Age doesn't determine ability."

Frankly, that had to be the only thing I agreed with them on, though the fact that this perception was mainly only a means to justify their reason behind kidnapping and enslaving a child for labour... that just erased all and any respect I might've had for them.

What with Spinach practice three evenings a week on top of all my schoolwork I had to catch up on due to my own procrastination, and my job of looking after Harry— which, let's face, I haven't been doing at all— I could hardly process how my second month in this school was coming to an end all too quickly.

Before I'd realized it, the castle had gradually become something of a solace for me as I quickly fell into a routine that was rather agreeable with me. Because the place was enormous and spacious, and not everyone knew everyone, I didn't have to worry about being coddled by a bunch of other kids who tried at all costs to become friends. Here, everyone kept mostly to themself, friendly, or rather generally polite with one another— well, when they weren't blood-racists...; admittedly, I felt a sense of belonging here. Though there was still much for me to discover about the pasts before my own, I felt a sense of completeness and contentment I hadn't ever really felt before, not even as much as I'd felt when I was with the Harrisons, before Mrs. Merilyn had passed away.

Maybe that's why I fell into the path of listlessness. Huh, that actually kind of makes sense...

Before long, it was the thirty-first of October, and everyone seemed to be making quite a big deal about it. What the heck was so special about this day that everyone was in celebration— didn't a lot of important people die on this very day, a few years ago?

Seriously— _what is this Hall of Ween?_

Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice as he happened upon the messily underlined question I had scribbled unto my whiteboard. He sat beside me this morning, my usual table-neighbours sitting right across from the pair of us, nearly glaring Ron down for whatever reason, Harry more so than Hermione; I'd noticed he had become much tenser whenever I was approached by, practically, _anyone_. By gods, I hope that's not a result of the _bite_.

"It's _Halloween_ ," said Ron through a mouthful of crepes. I blinked, and he stared momentarily before swallowing the food in his mouth. "Wait, you seriously don't know what that is?"

I shrugged. I was never present when the Adams celebrated what I could only ever assume to be special events. I was mostly ever around to cook the food, and then clean at the very end. At the orphanage, we never really celebrated anything either, mostly because the other children didn't find comfort in continuing certain traditions without the people they'd rather celebrate with; frankly, I understood the sentiment all too well, and things weren't much different with the Harrisons. I'd barely been there a full year before I was to celebrate my first ever holiday, which had been cancelled in the end for obvious reasons.

All in all, having never celebrated pretty much of anything, I had only come to learn what Christmas was little over a year ago, let alone a holiday— did people seriously expect me to know what this Hall of Ween was too?

"C'mon now, it's _tradition_ — you've got to know _that_!"

I inclined my head to one side. _So it is a holiday?_ He gaped at me, but nodded nonetheless. _But I thought we were meant to have time off work and school during holidays_. I frowned, my lower lip jutting out ever so slightly; honestly, I could do with a little vacation...

Ron snorted again. "Merlin, it's like you've been living under a rock."

" _More like a dusty old attic._ "

"What?"

" _Waffles_."

Ron scratched his nose as he went in for another bite of his bacon, then tried to speak through another mouthful, but Hermione was quick to interrupt him, throwing him a clearly disgusted look.

"It's short a holiday," she said. "But it's fun nonetheless. It used to be just a day when people would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off ghosts, but now it's more a holiday like... Christmas, without the gift exchange. Many like to decorate their homes in a dark, spooky fashion with props like fake spider webs, bones, and ghouls, and kids and adults dress up in character and go door to door exclaiming "Trick or Treat!""

I blinked, slightly tilting my head to one side as I regarded her curiously, brandishing my board. _"Trick or Treat?" What is that?_

"The best part of Halloween, that's what it is!" Ron exclaimed himself. "Probably the only thing we share with Muggles."

_Yeah, that does not tell me anything..._

Ron stared at me for a moment. "It's that time of night we all go house to house, asking for candy, otherwise we prank them. How do you not know that?"

"I didn't either," Harry interjected. "Well, I did, but I've never been to do that..."

Ron snorted into yet another slice of bacon. "Bloody hell, you two live under a rock."

I deadpanned. " _And you have no manners. Honestly, you get excited over threatening people for candy— you are seriously mental._ "

Ron blinked, staring at me, mouth agape, surprisingly having not noticed, it seems, when the next piece of bacon he'd picked dropped to the ground.

"But it's Halloween!"

" _So? It_ ain't _Christmas._ "

"But— _candy_!"

" _And I am crazy about chocolate, but you do not see me threatening people for it at gunpoint._ "

"... what's a gun?"

_It can Avada Kedavra anyone's arse._

Ron paled at this. "Bloody hell, Deli... we don't _actually_ threaten them... and it's not like it's the _only_ thing we celebrate..."

I scoffed mutely, pushing my plate away from me, having lost my appetite, as I brandished my whiteboard yet again. _Right, celebrating the end of Voldemort._ This prompted a flinch from most around me, except for Harry. _Like_ important _people have_ n't _died on this very day for,_ at least _, the past decade. Seriously, what is worth celebrating about that?_

It was suddenly silent at my table as people stared at me, some staring blandly at the solemn scribble on my whiteboard, but I was far too taken with my mute, yet inaudibly loud ranted opposition. Seriously, how did no one remember the ramification this night had on many among us? Take Harry for instance— that was the night he became an orphan. Or _Neville_ ; I'd heard his parents were struck into the farthest oblivion within the mind after enduring the torture of what they call an Unforgivable curse. Poor boy might as well be an orphan like us few others, with the vegetable state his parents were now in.

Having grown irritable from this pointless conversation of the pointlessness of the Hall of Ween, I stood and reached down for my bag before throwing one leg after the other, over the bench, hastily vacating my seat.

"Where are you going?" Harry suddenly asked, scrambling about in an attempt to grab his own bag, I assume.

Waving my wand in midair as I mutely cast a spell I'd become rather adept at, mostly as a shortcut for my mean of communication; it was quicker than scribbling on my whiteboard, and it kept me from having to reveal my ability of communicating telepathically to more people than was necessary.

The incantation was _Flagrate_ ; the spell created a burning, fiery line in the air that could be drawn into shapes. _Of course_ , I used it for writing in midair. It sure was quicker than writing on my whiteboard, although, frankly, I liked writing, so, despite my utter laziness, I only used this spell every now and again rather than all the time.

 _I will be taking a walk with Nosy Jane here and Edward_ , I replied, pointing to the two older Hufflepuffs suddenly standing behind me.

The male student's face flushed as I motioned toward him. "Actually, my name is Ced—"

"Hey, who are you calling nosy?!" the purple-eyed Hufflepuff nearly shrieked, glaring me down.

I deadpanned, brandishing my board for instinctive effect. _You_. Frankly, I was a little more surprised she backtracked on that note rather than the obvious mistake in her name. She was probably really relieved I hadn't called her a hunchback this time.

Turning back to Harry, I inclined my head as I watched him trying to gather his stuff quickly, presumably to follow after me. " _Finish your breakfast_ ," I spoke into his head. " _I will see you in Charms_."

The chattering behind me gradually picked back up as the three of us headed for the entrance of the Great Hall. I could pick out a few murmurs, some surprisingly agreeing with the reasoning behind my sudden distaste toward the holiday I'd just learned about, others not caring much, most likely because they hadn't been directly affected by the date as few others were.

"Well, that was quite the show you put on," Genie commented as we walked down the long corridor to the main staircase.

" _That would only be a show if I was a performer, but I am not,_ " I shrugged, uninterested in making any form of conversation.

The climb up the large staircase, followed by the labyrinth that was the Hog of Warts as we made our way up to the third floor, was rather silent, with the exception of Genie's rather boisterous comments as she engaged herself in a very one-sided conversation with her fellow Hufflepuff I could feel kept staring at me, though I was far too unaffected to do or comment anything about it.

Before long, the pair of them had left me in front of the now-familiar classroom 2E, before wandering further down the hall to their own class. I waited a few more moments before Professor Flitwick showed up and greeted me with a large smile as he entered the classroom before me and I was quick to settle into the seat nearest to the front; it was the best seat to quickly get out of as soon class ends, and the closest to reach upon entering the room. While I waited for class to start, I handed him a sheet with all the schoolwork he'd given me to catch up with the others and was startled at his perky delight upon finding all of my answers to be right.

Honestly, even I was surprised it was all correct; I hadn't felt like showing this final product to Genie to ask for any correction... mostly out of laziness to look for her and forgetting to mention it during our most recent study session.

When the rest of the class finally wafted into the classroom, Professor Flitwick announced that he thought we were ready to start making objects fly, introducing us to the main levitation spell, placing us all into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was that Shame kid. My partner was the Dean guy I knew was close friends with Shame. Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione... frankly, it was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. Those two really had it out for each other.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too— never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was really easy, but apparently very difficult for others... Harry and Shame swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Shame got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it— Harry had to put it out with his hat.

I snorted, turning my attention back to my own feather. The spell was fairly simple, if only with a long incantation, but seeing as I was rather adept with general spellcasting, I knew I would be able to do it rather easily, but I was too lazy to give it a try right now— too much movement...

"Erm... Delilah?"

I glanced over to my partner sitting beside me, inclining my head to one side, regarding him questioningly. He's my fellow first-year Gryffindor and yet I don't think he ever spoke to me. To be fair, though, I don't even speak, so I'm not really one to talk— even though I already don't...

The dark-skinned boy stammered incomprehensibly for a moment, his cheeks darkening slightly with a tinge of red as he stared back at me, mouth agape. I pressed the inquiry behind my own stare, seemingly snapping him out of whatever reverie he was stuck in just a moment ago.

"I'm having a bit of a hard time with this," he said after a moment, his words clear and better articulated. "Can... can you help me out a bit?"

I stared at him for a moment longer before reaching for my board and marker as per norm. _Show me how you do it?_

For a moment, his cheeks darkened yet again before he cleared his throat and turning his gaze back down at the feather set before him, narrowing his eyes momentarily as his posture straightened ever so slightly, subconsciously it seems.

"Wingardium Levio _sah_ ," he chanted, awkwardly flicking his wrist, his wand aimed straight at his target.

I could instantly pick out what he was doing wrong. Though his posture was straight, his wand movement was a bit sluggish, a near literal mirror-image of my everyday persona. And his pronunciation was off by a little. I could almost recall Professor McGonagall's own warning in that regard, telling us how one particular wizard she had gone to school with had once mispronounced the Orchideous charm, a spell that's meant to make flowers to come out of the wand; instead, he somehow ended up transfiguring his hand into the head of a live monkey, it seems. Poor boy had been utterly traumatized.

 _Your wand movement is too slow_ , I explained. _It must be precise and firm, but not too rigid._

After he read my explanation, I set my board and marker down and reached over to his wand-hand, being his left one, and directed him into doing the right movement for the spell. When I found he seemed to get the hang of it, I reached for my board anew and scribbled my next instruction unto it.

_And your pronunciation is a bit off._

He frowned at this. "Really? I thought I had that bit down at least..."

_Say it._

His brows furrowed as he cleared his throat again, lifting his hand as he prepared to cast the spell, though I was quick to stop him, pulling his attention back to me.

_You have the movement down, but maybe practice the incantation before actually casting the spell. We do not want what happened to Shame over there to happen to us now, do we?_

He snorted, then huffed slightly as he full-on laughed. I tilted my head to one side, startled and puzzled; what did I write that was so amusing to him? Honestly, as funny as some may find me, even I don't think I actually have a sense of humour...

"His name is _Seamus_ , not Shame."

I blinked, staring at him blankly. He snorted again and reached over to my board, erasing my last comment and spelled out his friend's name. My mouth parted, lips widening in a silent 'o' as I noticed the stark difference in the spelling of the boy's actual name and the name I had given him.

I felt my cheeks heat up ever so slightly as a tinge of discomfort filled me. Shaking my head to myself, I frantically erased my own shame from the board and re-scribbled my reply previous to my last one.

_Say it._

"Right." He nodded. "Wingardium Levio _sah_."

I frowned as I tried to pinpoint which part was wrong; I could hear it, but it was very subtle. _Again._

"Wingardium Levio _sah_."

_Again._

"Wingardium Levio _sah_."

There we go. I erased my last word and wrote what needed to be changed in his pronunciation of the incantation. _It is pronounced_ _Levi-_ _oh_ _-sa. Not Levi-o-_ _sah_ _._

"Oh." His brows furrowed again momentarily before he tried it out once more. "Wingardium Levi _ohsah_."

I grimaced. _Again._

"Wingardium Levi _ohsah_."

_Again._

"Wingardium Levi _oh... sah?_ "

I deadpanned and brandished my board for the umpteenth time in the past fifteen minutes. _Are you asking me or telling me?_

He scratched his brow in hesitation. "Telling... you?"

I snorted. _Again._

"Wingardium Levi _ohsa._ "

My lips twitched slightly, feeling a faint sense of accomplishment warming my insides. _Again._

"Wingardium Levi _ohsa._ "

_Again._

"Wingardium Levi _ohsa._ "

 _Good_. He smiled. _Now try it with the movement._

He hesitated again. "At the same time?"

" _No, do one after the other and see how nothing happens— yes, at the same time._ " His eyes widened, and I instantly cursed myself for letting my irritation get the best of me. I scoffed; " _Oh, come on— we take a train hidden behind an enchanted wall to a castle hidden in the middle of nowhere, where we attend a school filled with strange creatures, ghosts and moving portraits, in which we are taught how to perform_ magic _— this_ can't _be the weirdest thing you have encountered._ "

Wordlessly blinking for a few seconds, his mouth open and closed a few times as he openly stared at me before uttering a snort, shaking his head to himself.

"You know, for a mute, you surprisingly _think_ a lot... no offence." He sounded amused.

I rolled my eyes. " _Just because I do not speak does not mean I am brain-dead._ " I snorted mildly humorous. " _Also, just because you say "no offence" does not mean the person you speak to_ won't _take offence despite your after-warning. Honestly, you_ 're _lucky I am particularly dense about quite a bit to take offence over, pretty much, anything._ "

The boy chuckled slightly. "Never heard anyone openly insult themselves like that."

I shrugged one shoulder. " _You live, you learn._ " Nodding toward the feather settled before him, I motioned for him to perform the spell we'd just been practicing. " _Now, go on, give it a go. And remember, swish and flick— Levi_ oh _sa._ "

Nodding to himself, he cleared his throat yet again, straightening his posture as he re-averted his attention back to the feather before him, pointing his wand out.

Swish, "Wingardium," and flick! "Levi _o_ sa!"

The pair of us watched as his feather suddenly lifted, ever so slightly, off the table, hovering at nearly five inches into the air. My head inclined to one side as my lips twitched again, feeling slightly proud of our result.

"I did it!" the boy exclaimed excitedly.

I blinked, then deadpanned. " _Why are you screaming?_ _I am mute, not deaf._ "

His cheeks darkened once more as he awkwardly cleared his throat, guiding the feather to rest back unto the table, averting his gaze as though to avoid my own.

"Sorry."

I shrugged a shoulder. " _No harm done._ "

"How come you're not practicing too?" he suddenly asked, glancing back over me.

I shrugged again. " _Already done it before; I am confident enough, in my ability, to not have to wave my wand fervently for the next half-hour just to levitate a feather._ "

"... you're just feeling lazy, aren't you?"

" _Absolutely. Heard it from Hermione?_ "

"Could hear her from across the Great Hall, complaining about it."

I snorted under my breath. " _Keep practicing; you should be able to lift it, at least, over three feet into the air by the end of the class._ "

Nodding to himself, the boy did just that as I let my gaze wander aimlessly around the classroom. At the table on our right, Harry and S... hame... us?? had gotten, yet, another feather after the latter blew up his third one. To the table on our left, Ron wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill. He could easily poke someone's eyes out like that.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Win- _gar_ -dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Her feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping as I rolled my eyes; that wizard gets excited over everything. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Bored, I picked up my wand and looked down at my feather, momentarily just staring at it before I subconsciously flicked my wrist as I thought, " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

My feather rose off my desk and hovered above our heads before swiftly settling onto Professor Flitwick's desk.

He beamed at me and gave ten points to Gryffindor, five for Hermione and five for me. Ron grinned at me but when he turned back to look at Hermione, he glared at her. Geez, what a coin...

Ron was in a pretty bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he had grumbled as the lot of us pushed our way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. I caught a glimpse of her face and was startled upon feeling as though my heart just dropped as I took notice of how her eyes were watering. What the fu... dge chocolate?

"I think she heard you," Harry commented.

I deadpanned. _No, duh._

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Brows furrowing with irritation, I stalked forward and hit him upside the head, glaring him down before storming past them to Herbology. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried even a tad bit; Hermione hadn't turned up for Herbology or lunch, and hadn't been seen all afternoon. I wonder if she went back to the Gryffindor Tower. I should bring her some food— something chocolaty; chocolate is the way to go whenever you're feeling... down.

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, I overheard this Patil girl telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, and taking his lack of attention as an advantage, I hit him again, punching him gently on the side.

"Ow," he complained. _Well, I thought I was gentle._ "What was that for?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. " _For being stupid,_ _you carrot-headed_ extra _!_ "

He rolled his eyes and muttered a half-felt apology.

I scoffed. " _I am not the one you are supposed to apologize to_."

A moment later we had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations nearly brought bile up my throat, at the thought of celebrating such awful things that occurred over the course of the past decade, on this very day. Truthfully, I get it; it's victories they're proud of, but what of all the losses? Honestly, just the thought of that made me lose any appetite I might've had. Maybe I should just head to the kitchens and ask Deesey or Libly to set some desert on the side, now, so I can take it to Hermione. Perhaps the chocolate will make me feel better too.

By this point, just taking in my decorated surroundings, I felt irrevocably tired, feeling almost sick to my stomach upon catching sight of the thousand live bats fluttering from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter.

Frankly, I was so close to purchasing an actual rifle to shoot those little buggers— those little beasts seriously creep me out.

Prompted by my own exhaustion, I felt myself tilt over until I had subconsciously rested my head upon Harry's shoulder. The boy beside me chuckled but remained as he was, seemingly comfortable, moving barely, if only to feed himself. He had attempted to slip a few baked potatoes past my lips, and some slices of tomato, but stopped after I kept glaring at him. Only once did he succeed when I had reflexively stuck out my tongue at him, and he forced a slice of toast into my mouth. Lucky for him, I was too lazy to make any fuss over it and merely nibbled on the bread.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked me after a moment, gazing down at me worriedly.

I shrugged a shoulder, not once moving my gaze from the bread in my hands when I suddenly felt a hand settled tentatively upon my forehead, which I was quick to find was Ron's.

"Blimey, Deli, you're burning up," he murmured.

I snorted. I'm always burning up— I'm a shifter with the body-temperature of a heater. However, my norm was usually a little more subtle than this, and with my magic, I was able to create a sensory-illusion of sorts, I found early on before Hog of Warts, and suppress the heat to a more... _humane_ norm. However, if someone else was suddenly able to feel it... that may be something I should start worrying about, right about now. Either way, my immune system is pretty sturdy... if you ignore those other medical conditions I have... this current over-exhaustion is probably just an after-effect of the full moon, which was barely a week ago.

Yeah, I'm sure that's all... gods, it better be all...

I sighed again and shrugged to myself, pushing myself upward and standing from my seat, stepping over the bench. I need a walk, and going to find Hermione is the perfect excuse. Let's just hope she's not in one of the many washrooms farthest from here— that would be a _long_ walk.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked for the second time today.

I reached over and grabbed french-fry from his plate as I shrugged once more. " _To find my brownie._ "

With that in mind, I made my way down the aisle and exited the Great Hall, rolling my eyes to myself as I heard the familiar high-pitched screech of a sound emitted from the enchanted knights' armours standing guard by the entrance of the Hall, turning their nosy... helmets as soon as I stepped out into the corridor.

" _There are more interesting things about— stop looking my way!_ "

I glared at them before marching past their eyeless gaze, wandering the familiar halls to the floor below, where I would, yet again, find myself strolling down to the large, brightly lit, broad stone basement corridor, instantly turning down the left pathway, coming to a stop before the familiar portrait of a gigantic silver fruit bowl.

Honest to gods, that giggling pear creeps me out, but the delicious sight and smell emanating from the kitchens was always enough to compensate for it, the lot instantly shooting my appetite through the roof. As hungry as I suddenly was, though, I could not just sit and think only for myself. Hermione was probably having a meltdown— whatever the heck that meant— and I needed to be there to lend her a shoulder... as she has lent me her own, times a many, for most of my naps.

After Deesey scrambled about to put some chocolate-flavoured pastries in a little box for me, I made my way back out, heading for the staircase leading back up to the ground-floor. When I sauntered through the tiny hall between it and the Entrance Hall, I instantly recoiled as the smell of filth, perished foods and rotten flesh slapped me right across the face, nearly doubling over to throw up.

I could faintly hear panicked screams in the distance, halls and staircases away, accompanied by stomping feet. For a moment, I stood stock-still, utterly confused as to what could possibly be going on, though I was quickly snapped out of my thoughts as I suddenly felt the ground shake beneath me.

Clenched jaw, I quickly brandished my wand and pointed at the box I held, shrinking it down till it was the size of my palm with a swiftly cast Shrinking Charm, then stuffed it into the loose pocket of my robes before running up the staircase and turning down the corridor leading to the changing staircases. I leapt onto the right one as soon as it rounded its way over and ran up the stairs, two by two until I made it to the first floor and hurried down the longest corridor, quickening my pace into a full-on sprint upon realizing just where the awful stench was coming from. I was almost at the door when the godawful stench nearly trampled me over as it wafted over, foul by a tenfold.

Opting to endure it, I pushed through and slipped into the washroom just as a chorus of cries fervently called out to Hermione, who was hiding under a large pile of debris by the broken toilet cubicles. The moment I ran into the bathroom I was greeted by such horrible sight, I might've just clawed my eyes out.

Standing between Harry and Ron, and Hermione, was an enormous, stinking beast, standing at nearly thrice my size in wolf form with a bald head and thick, dark gray skin. The fat thing stood on thick, wobbly legs, with either foot only possessing two toes, both with giant toenails.

I would gloss over the other details, but I could barely hang on as it was; that awful stench was seriously getting to me— I could practically _taste_ it... and my mouth wasn't even open.

I watched, stock-still in the corner, uncertain of how else to react; whatever I did, I would surely cause more damage, and with a brainless beast like that right in the middle of things, I might just end up hurting my friends in an attempt to aim at him— wait, what?

"Confuse it!" Harry had cried out to Ron, voicing my own sudden despair as I watched the thing approach Hermione.

With a quick ultimatum ringing silently among us, Harry rushed forward and seized a broken tap, throwing as hard as he could against the wall. The beast stopped a few feet from Hermione and lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise, when its mean little eyes finally caught sight of Harry. It hesitated momentarily, then made for him instead, lifting the huge club it dragged along as it went. As the beast approached, the stench grew so unbearable that—

"Blaargh!!"

Ugh... ew... yup... that... that's vomit. Right there, on the floor... in front of me... I think I can even see bits of the chocolate éclairs I ate for dessert, earlier at lunch.

"Oi, pea-brain!"

With quite a bit of effort, I lifted my head from where I had been hunched over on the side and caught Ron throwing a metal pipe at it. The beast didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

Now _these_ are Gryffindor. Risking their lives for that of another, even though that other's life was in danger because of them... and here I am, puking in the corner.

How pathetic.

I felt the building bile get replaced by quite the anxiety I'd never actually felt before as I watched the beast roar again and start toward Ron, who was nearest and had, seemingly, no way to escape.

In a moment of what most would deem bravery, but I would classify as pure and utter stupidity, Harry took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the beast's neck from behind. The beast didn't even seem to feel Harry hanging there, but even a beast will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped— it had gone straight up one of the beast's nostrils.

Harry's dilemma had not ended there, though. I watched, absolutely horrified, as the beast had yanked him by the foot and held him upside down, attempting at multiple reprises to hit him with his club. I was mildly relieved when Ron finally reacted— at the pace we were going, we wouldn't have gotten far, what with me nearly paralyzed with terror, Hermione hidden in fright and Ron just staring up at the whole thing, mouth agape.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Why didn't I think of that?

Unfortunately, all relief was short-lived as the suddenly distracted beast let go of Harry, dropping him from the very high distance it had held him above the ground. Finally snapping out of my stupor, I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my robe and brandished my magical rod, my lips parting instantly as I aimed and flicked my wand.

"Arresto Momentum!"

My throat felt strained and pressured with effort, burning with the aftertaste of the vomit I'd regurgitated moments ago, but I was proud of myself for pushing through that to cast the spell successfully.

I had only just managed to slow his fall to the ground when I was hit across the chest with the stone-hard club, which was, _somehow_ , suddenly back in the beast's grasp. Hurled across the chamber, I was thrown straight into the, already, broken sinks, a loud crack resonating throughout the restroom as pain shot through my right arm. I could feel the crack and dislocation of the bones upon barely shifting, prompting a pained _scream_ out of me.

Why is it always my arm?!

Mildly disoriented, I pushed myself up with my uninjured arm and took a few steps forward in an attempt to strengthen my wobbly knees. Struck momentarily stock-still, yet again, as the beast made an uncoordinated lunge at Ron, I quickly snapped myself out of my daze and dove forward, shoving him out of the way. However, by saving him, I merely hurled myself in the crossfire, suddenly lifted off the ground as the beast gripped me around the waist. An abnormally loud crack echoed throughout the chamber, prompting a gasp and whimper out of me; I could only cling to its disgusting finger with my uninjured hand in which I simultaneously struggled to keep a hold of my wand, as the beast tightened its grip and shook me around as a toddler would a toy.

Holding on a moment longer, I took my cue when the beast paused its shaking and lifted my wand, crying out in a desperate move as I aimed my next spell at it. So... I may have read a bit too far ahead... and maybe overdone it a bit. Unfortunately, there's no turning back after you've already cast the spell.

"Bombarda!"

A jet of white light shot out of my wand, straight into the beast's face. The blast had prompted the beast to drop me as it sent it hurtling back, slamming straight into the opposite wall, breaking through it and falling right into the empty hall beyond it, landing with a thud louder by a twenty-fold than my own as I'd dropped and hit my head against the stone floor upon falling down. I was certain it was over as the beast had uttered a loud groan similar to my own before losing consciousness, only difference was that I was still very much awake, and very much in pain.

Not for long, I reckon— gods, I've been here for too long...

"Is it... is it dead?" Hermione suddenly asked.

I nearly snorted humorously, but quickly stopped myself, groaning as the pain I had previously numbed slightly resurfaced, knocking me back over, throwing my attempt to stand out the window. Nevertheless, I tried again.

"I don't think so," said Harry, though his voice sounded further away. "I think it's just been knocked out."

"What about Deli?" Aw, Ron, I didn't know you actually cared about anything other than food. "She saved my life." ... that explains it.

I growled softly, balance shaking and nearly non-existent as I stood on weak, wobbly legs, carefully clutching at the right side of my body, where the most damage had been afflicted upon me.

"Deli?" Hermione called out to me, hesitated a few feet away from me. "Are you all right?"

I snorted, then groaned in pain. " _Now who_ 's _being ridiculous?_ "

I grimaced as I fought to remain upright, though the grimace shifted further toward disgust as I noticed cleaning his wand with his robes, wiping off some weird substance that looked an awful lot like lumpy gray glue.

Ugh, I do not want to know what that is or where it came from...

"Urgh— troll boogers," Harry muttered in disgust.

... seriously, I did not want to know that.

The sudden slam of a door, ensued by loud, scurried footfalls made the three of them look up; I didn't even bother, for worry I might just lose my head upon merely craning it. Despite my spotty consciousness and pained, and weakened state, I couldn't deny I was rather surprised the teachers had finally found us; when I'd rushed up here all the way from the kitchens, the place had been nearly deserted, if only, by exception, were the talking portraits, which I had caught bits of their conversation— I can vaguely recall them mentioning there was something big going on in the dungeons, which had prompted the staff to gather down there.

The dungeons are three floors below where we currently are; I hadn't realized what a racket we had been making, but of course, the portraits would've heard what all was going on and reported to the teachers as quickly as possible, hence why there were here now.

Without so much as turning around, I could instantly recognize Professor McGonagall's haste footsteps as she burst into the room, closely followed by the quiet footfall of Professor Snape and the oddball of a squirrel. Seriously, there's something off about him, and not even his theatrics will shake me off this track.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Snape bending over the beast. After a moment's pause and a clench of the jaw, I grunted softly as I craned my neck slightly and dared myself a glance up, nearly biting my tongue off when I reflexively flinched upon noticing the angry look Professor McGonagall had sent me, Harry and Ron, the latter of which was still standing with his wand in the air, mouth agape at the entire incident.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who, in turn, glanced over at me with wide eyes. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Before anyone else would utter another word, my lips parted with a curl of a grimace as I whimpered from the unbearableness of the pain I was forcing myself to endure in silence.

As if cued, everyone else in the room turned to look at me, then momentarily shifted their gaze to the torn-down wall a few feet away before glancing back down at me. The last thing I could remember was feeling my lips move and my throat tighten, hearing a voice I could not recall ever hearing before all effort dropped from my clenched muscles, the prompt result nudging me to finally succumb to my utter exhaustion. I remember my feet giving away beneath me, but I never felt my body collapsing against the ground as darkness consumed me and misplaced hunger rose within me.

This is the worst time to crave chocolate éclairs.

I wonder if they stepped on my puke...

Ugh, what has become of me...?

**Harry's P.O.V.**

**A few minutes ago**

You know when people say something is a disaster waiting to happen?

Well, this happened to be a freakin' disaster. You know, when I left for Hogwarts, I thought I'd never have to face another Dudley while I was here. Funny how life thought to compensate for his absence with an actual troll.

We weren't an army fighting off the darn thing. It was just Ron and me, as far as I could tell, what with Hermione stuck under the rubble of broken, wooden cubicles. At least it wasn't anything heavier than that; I fear things would've been much worse, had that been so.

The entire affair was horrific to deal with. After Hermione had run out from under the debris and made it to the sinks, I remember reacting in a desperate attempt to do... _something_ to keep the advancing beast from going after her again, and leaped unto the troll's enormous club as it began to raise it once more. Somehow, I ended up on its shoulders and, boy, was that uncomfortable. Not only was it a pain to be seated on something that felt harder than stone, but the stench up close was utterly unbearable.

Oh, what I would do to smell the sweetness of chocolate or a treacle tart; those are delicious...

Suddenly, after accidentally impaling my wand... somewhere in its face— I don't even want to think where it ended up— I was yanked by the foot and held upside down— oh, I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I felt my eyes widen when I noticed the troll lifting its club once again, though its aim, this time, was me! I quickly curled myself upward when he brought the enormous thing around in an attempt to hit me with it, missing barely by a few inches. He tried again and again, and I knew something had to be done before I became a stain on the bathroom wall.

"Ron!" I cried out when the beast tried to hit me again.

"What?"

My eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean "what?"" I hollered. "Do something!"

"But what?"

" _Anything!!_ " Seriously, I'm getting lightheaded, and I might just throw up if this keeps going...

"Remember," I faintly heard Hermione speak, her tone almost reassuring. How can she be reassuring at a time like this?! "Swish and flick, and a nice and long 'gar' when you cast it."

 _What_?

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

I was mildly relieved when, the next time the troll brought its hand down to hit me, the club was missing and out of its grasp. In a dumbstruck moment, the beast let go of my foot, dropping me from the very high distance it had held me above the ground. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, but I suddenly felt almost weightless upon hearing an unfamiliar voice cry out what I could only assume was a spell.

"Arresto Momentum!"

There was a certain sense of familiarity warming itself into the back of my mind as I listened to the clearly strained voice speak almost clumsily though perfectly articulate and firm as its owner cast the spell. The caster was, thankfully, successful as my fall was instantly slowed almost comically, saving me from a split-open head.

As soon as I was on the ground, however, I noticed how Ron had lost focus and the levitation charm he'd been holding instantly dropped from the club, dropping the enormous thing, missing the troll's head by mere inches, visibly angering the beast. It was when said... _thing_ snatched its club from the ground, then madly flailed its arms about, did I finally notice Delilah was in here with us.

Had she been here this whole time?

... was she the one who—

My train of thought was cut short in a matter of a millisecond as, to my great horror, the troll hurled Delilah across the room, hitting her straight in the chest with its club, throwing her right into the broken sinks, a loud crack resonating throughout the restroom, followed by an audibly pained scream I never thought possible to come from _my_ best friend.

"Delilah!!" I cried out in unison with Hermione and Ron.

It was surprising how Ron's voice carried the loudest, though frightening as well as it, incidentally, caught the attention of the stupid beast, prompting it to make an uncoordinated lunge at Ron, though we were all surprised once more when Delilah shot forward and shoved him aside, getting caught in the crossfire herself. I watched fearfully as the troll lifted her off the ground, gripping her around the waist. Yet another abnormally loud crack echoed throughout the chamber, followed by a gasp and whimper.

"Lilah..." I uttered, throat tightening with fear for her life.

I watched, eyes wide and panicked, though I was admittedly stunned with stupor as I watched Delilah brandish her wand and surprise me, as always, aiming her next spell directly at the troll's face, lips parting as she shot a jet of red light at it.

"Bombarda!"

Whatever the effect of the spell was meant to be, it prompted the troll to drop Delilah as it was sent hurtling back, slamming straight into the opposite wall, breaking through it and falling right into the empty hall beyond it, landing with a ridiculously loud thud.. By this point, I knew it was all over as the beast had uttered a loud groan before losing consciousness.

"Is it... is it dead?" Hermione suddenly asked.

Hesitating momentarily, I sighed and hastily walked over to the thing, with intent to retrieve my wand. Rounding its large figure, I approached it tentatively, nudging its arm with my foot, sighing once more in relief when it didn't retaliate.

"I don't think so," I replied as I walked up to where its head was. "I think it's just been knocked out."

"What about Deli?" I glanced over at her worriedly, finding her hunched in the corner, clutching her right side with a very noticeable grimace on her usually expressionless face. "She saved my life."

I could tell she was enduring, as she always does, and I would normally go to her first, but things have been different lately. I don't know what happened for it to be like that all of a sudden when things were patching up nicely, but I know she would only turn her stubborn nose away if I openly confronted her. She was like a proud magical creature herself; one has to be tentative and sensible about how to approach them.

With a soft sight, I went over to the unconscious creature and grimaced as I pulled my wand from its nose, cringing at the nastiness that came out of its nose looking like lumpy grey glue.

I growled softly, balance shaking and nearly non-existent as I stood on weak, wobbly legs, carefully clutching at the right side of my body, where the most damage had been afflicted upon me.

"Urgh— troll boogers," I muttered in disgust.

The sudden slam of a door, ensued by loud, scurried footfalls made Hermione, Ron and I look up, surprised and terrified upon finding Professors McGonagall, Quirrell and Snape standing before by the entrance of the, well, what used to be a bathroom. Honestly, although the consequences of our recklessness might be horrible, I was still somewhat relieved of seeing them there, though I was admittedly a little ticked off they had taken so long to get here.

With a teacher who claims to have a gift with communicating with trolls, the troll should've been dealt with before he'd come running into the Great Hall to warn the Headmaster. Honestly, what is this stupidity? I'm starting to see why Lilah and many others dislike him so much.

Snape's sneer was there as per norm, though what really left me shook was Professor McGonagall's unusual steel gaze as she stared us down, visibly infuriated. Quirrell... that man was a whole other story; he took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Seriously, how is he a teacher at this school?

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice.

Cringing under Professor McGonagall's glower, I glanced over at Ron, who, in turn, glanced over at a flinching Delilah, wand still in the air as he'd had it moments ago when he'd successfully cast the levitation charm, mouth agape at the entire incident.

"You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave me a swift, piercing look, the pressure of both stern teachers prompting me to drop my gaze, shamefully. Before anyone else could utter another word, a loud whimper pierced through the tension, startling the lot of us. As if cued, everyone else in the room turned to look at Delilah, the teachers momentarily shifting their gaze toward the torn-down wall a few feet away before glancing back down at her.

To our great surprise, her parted lips moved, confirming my earlier suspicion as, once again, the unfamiliar voice spoke out, voice throaty and soft, barely above a whisper.

"I am sorry for breaking your wall."

Then, before anyone could react, her legs gave away and she collapsed to the ground, though she was stopped midair, just inches before she'd touched the floor. I was further surprised to find that it was Snape who had caught her, with a levitation charm, I assume, and she rose further into the air, curls flying beneath her as she floated over to him and into his arms. Adjusting her slightly, the man turned without a word, and left with my friend, off to the hospital wing, I could only deduce.

"Professor, please, don't be angry with them; they were looking for me."

Professor McGonagall looked stunned at Hermione's sudden revelation, which, mind you, was... not entirely wrong. "Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last. "I went looking for the troll because I— I thought I could deal with it on my own— you know, because I've read all about them."

... yeah, _that_ is far from the truth. Why was she lying about it, though? And to a teacher of all things... Seriously, not too long ago, she was going on about how getting expelled was worse than getting killed.

Ron was right— she needs to sort her priorities...

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron tried to distract him as best as he could. Delilah helped with amazing spells as well and knocked it out. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Ron and I tried to look as though this story wasn't new to us.

"Well— in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of us, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own? Five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left. Professor McGonagall turned to Ron and I.

"Well, I still say you were lucky; not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

With that said, Ron and I hurried out of the chamber, mildly surprised to find Hermione waiting for us. We didn't speak at all until we had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than twenty points," Ron grumbled. "I mean, Deli even risked her life against that stupid thing!"

"Fifteen, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

I winced slightly when I noticed Hermione's gaze drop to the ground.

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her from that stinkin' troll."

I huffed. " _Mind you_ , she might not have needed saving if you hadn't insulted her in the first place."

"Either way," Hermione spoke up, voice soft as her gaze stuck to the floor. "Thank you. I don't think I would've made it out on my own, even with all the spells I've practiced in advance."

Ron threw her a heartfelt smile and shrugged. "What are friends for?"

His honest reply prompted a genuine smile from the bookworm.

Finally, we reached the fourth floor, we walked the long corridor that led to our tower, stopping in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," said Hermione.

"Welcome back," said the Fat Lady, smiling slightly at Hermione.

The girl smiled back. "Thank you," she replied before she climbed in first, followed by Ron, and then myself.

"I'm thinking of going to see Delilah first thing tomorrow morning," I announced as we climbed out the other side and headed for the spiral staircases. "Either o' you want to come?"

"Of course!" said Hermione.

Ron gave me a look, to which I rolled my eyes. "Why wouldn't I?"

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Sharing a look, the three of us rushed forward for our own servings, a new friendship budding its way in; there are just some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

Tomorrow, I know that without a doubt, Delilah will be very pleased with the news... even if she doesn't show it.


	23. 10½ - Wish Of A Dying Man

**September 9, 1991** **(1 month and 22 days** **ago)**

An elderly man sat on his large bed in the confines of a darkened bedroom. There were newspapers littering the rest of his unoccupied bed, as well as the floor, many pertaining to the apparent missing Dawn-Harrison family, and others on his convict of a grandson— of course, _he_ knew better. He was perhaps one of the few to believe in the young man's innocence, but no matter his status, no one would listen to a dying man.

He'd endured the last couple of years, running on hope that things would somehow turn out right, one way or another, but the news his _Doctor_ brought to him never turned out in his favour. He didn't have much to go on, as of late, for he had outlived his brother and his sisters, and his own children, and all of his remaining descendants had lives of their own now.

Of his five grandchildren, he was almost certain three of them had and were, perhaps, still conspiring with former dark wizards to bring back the evil man that had brought nothing but war upon their community, one of which had died little over a decade ago, not long before said evil man was rumoured to perish at the hands of two babies the wizarding world called their war heroes.

_Babies_.

Honestly, what has the world come to?

His favourite grandson had been imprisoned in Azkaban— wrongfully, no doubt— without even being given a trial!!

"A woman of all trades," his _Doctor_ had called herself.

"Ha! Bring me back my grandson, and then we'll talk, you old hag."

"I am not allowed to meddle."

"Then tell me what can be done!!"

"That would be meddling."

Tsk. Cheeky old hag...

As a dying man, there was little to nothing much he could do himself to help or rectify all these wrongdoings done to those of his family who were _actually_ innocent. Truly, as much as he wished he could, he could only remain in bed, for the most part, missing his siblings and that boisterous grandchild of his who always seemed to brighten the room with his mere presence.

He could still recall it as if it were just yesterday when the young man— then but a child— had come to announce his unconditional love for a girl who paid him little to no mind whatsoever. She was from a good family, he remembered, best friends with his twin sister's great-grandson. In fact, if his mind was still sharp as he hoped, he could faintly recall she had a twin of her own.

He was all for his grandson pursuing the girl.

She was a pretty little thing, intelligent, kind and considerate, and a very skilled little witch. She had an impossibly grand vision in life from such a young age, and had a determination that matched, if not rivalled that of his own eldest grandson who was adamant to not give her up. He chased after her for over half a decade, having fallen for the girl a little over a year before they'd begun their first year at Hogwarts and, finally, he caught her heart after much work on his part.

Alas, fortune would not seek the emancipated grandson of his.

Yes, emancipated was the boy, and quite so he had been very saddened upon hearing the news. At the time, however, he was no longer Head of his House, so he had little to no say in how to rectify such atrocious happenings in his own family— a stubborn pack of mules, the lot of them.

As soon as he became bedridden, he found little in life to console him. The only comfort he had was that old, dark as night owl that still acted as though it were in its prime, faithfully bringing him news every day, and that sweet little house-elf of his, Espy, both gifts from the bright young witch who had his grandson wrapped around her delicate finger. He was one of the few decent ones in his family, she had boldly admitted, and so she left her own owl's offspring and her rescue (the elf) in his care, knowing he would look after the little thing just as well as she would look after him.

That young witch wasn't wrong; if only she could have married into his family, he would have died in peace.

Unfortunately, she was littered with her own bout of problems she didn't wish to burden anyone else with. His only joy was knowing she and his grandson did manage to finally bring life into their world, even if it was what most would have once considered a bastard child who had to live under the most dreadful guise. Yes, the man who took them was an awful one— no honour, no sense of righteousness, and was just the worst choice to ever make, even if it were for protection.

All hope is lost, it seems.

Ten years, six months, and seven days ago, both she and the little bundle that had brought joy to his gradually dying heart perished, it seems, details of the secret war never to see the light of day.

Indeed, all hope is lost.

Nine years, ten months, and nine days ago, the last of his twin's descendants also perished in the Great War in the wizarding war, leaving nothing but a stamp on her last living descendant's head. Two days later, his grandson would be a convicted murderer, damned to suffer in the depths of the darkest prison until that wretched government deemed it fit to end such torments with that godawful Kiss.

On this day, his only solace was his _Doctor_ — the old hag that seemed to know everything, and yet couldn't do much of anything because she wasn't "allowed to meddle."

Stupid universe and its stupid rules...

Then, there was the one granddaughter who still cared enough about him to come see him every now and again, and with that grown daughter of hers, a recent Hogwarts graduate who was currently going through various rigorous tests in hopes to be admitted as an apprentice Auror. That girl was quite the clumsy one, but despite her two left feet and her very happy-go-lucky persona, and the fact that she was a half-blood— she had many skills and talents that compensated for her lack of orientation.

If only his grandson, that little witch he adored and their little bundle— perhaps even another, a girl and a boy— could be there to meet the last bit of loyalists in his family. He was certain they would get along splendidly.

"Master!" that familiar squeak of a voice brought the slightest of smiles to his lips. "Espy brings the morning tea and crumpets!"

There wasn't much that set little Espy apart from others of her kind. Though she was one of the taller ones, standing ever so slightly slouched at three feet tall, she looked just as tiny and scrawny as the rest of them, all spindly arms and legs, pointed, bat-like ears, and oversized heads and eyes.

The only thing that differentiated her from them was the orchid colour of her eyes, the result of a spell cast by her late rescuer who did it as a means of identification. Espy didn't mind the change, a stark yet pretty contrast to her formerly black, beady-like eyes; it was a nice reminder of the late Mistress who had been kindhearted and caring enough to rescue her from her former masters.

Aside from that, she wore actual clothes as opposed to a pillowcase of sorts, dawning little dresses tailored to her exact measurements as demanded of the witch before she'd gifted her to her new Master, who was just as kind a man. It saddened her to see him in such a bedridden state, and as such could never deny the poor old man of his requests.

Thankfully, his old age and illness did nothing to deter his sanity.

"Have you brought in the paper?" he asked, reaching a shaking hand forward toward his teacup.

Espy gave him a nod and smile of her own as he took a sip of his tea, sighing in contentment at the comforting relief the warm liquid brought to him as it swam down his throat, leaving behind the pleasant taste of Chamomile on his tongue.

"Yes, Espy has the paper here, Master."

"Good," he said softly, lifting his other hand to give a gentle pat to her head, earning himself a beaming smile from the small creature.

Unfolding the folded old booklet pertaining to the national-wide news of the wizarding community, the old man suddenly dropped his teacup when his old, wistful eyes read through the very first headline from behind his large spectacles, his white brows shooting to the base of his hairline as he all but nearly had a heart-attack.

Startling the poor little house-elf into a fit of panic, the old bedridden man, not once paying her any mind, suddenly rose from the large mattress in a fit of joyful laughter and began to all but skip around the little spot beside his bed and night-table in all his glee.

Espy stared up at the man with wide, stricken eyes. "Master! You can walk!"

"And it's a miracle!"

Espy glared up at him, rather uncharacteristically. "No, it's not! Master was able to walk this whole time, wasn't he?! Why would Master lie to the Doctor? Why would Master lie to _Espy_?"

She wasn't particularly mad about this, more relieved than anything; this was a sign that his illness wasn't as bad in stage as she and many others had thought despite the Doctor's constant reassurances. The fact that he had lied about it for so long, however, disappointed the little elf.

"Espy, do you even know what lying is?"

Espy gave him a surprisingly defiant look. "It means to not tell the truth. What does it mean to Master?"

The old man winced almost sheepishly. "Reclining your body in a horizontal position." Espy gave him a stern look. "Oh, don't look at me like that, little thing; it's not like I _actually_ lied about it... completely."

Honestly, he'd never really said he couldn't walk; he was just too lazy to do it. What do you except, though?? He's a hundred-year-old man, he's lived his life. He can afford to laze about. The Doctor would get it— old as she is, despite appearances...

"A lie of omission is still a lie, Master once told Espy." Of course, he did. _Sigh_. "Master lied to Espy about his well-being. Espy is not angry, but merely disappointed Master did not feel he could trust Espy enough with the truth."

The old man sighed, sitting back down at the edge of his bed, cringing slightly at the crack of his back as he settled down, placing a gentle hand atop the little creature's head. "Espy, it's not that I don't trust you. I do, truly. You are my most loyal friend and companion— how could I not?"

"Than why did Master never tell Espy? Espy has worried day in and out for Master. Master could never move so much anymore..."

"I'm lazy, Espy. That's what is it," he deadpanned.

The elf deadpanned.

There is something seriously wrong with this family.

"The only thing that could get me out of this funk, it seems, was the answer to my prayers," he said softly.

The elf tilted her head to the side, eyeing the man curiously. "Master?"

"Look here, little one," he murmured, passing her the newspaper.

An article among many others, written by the infamous Rita Skeeter spoke of the nationally proclaimed baby-heroes who were said to be attending one of the biggest academies of witchcraft and wizardry; Hogwarts.

Right beneath the large headline spelling **_THE CHILDREN WHO LIVED, BACK AMONG THE LIVING_** was a black and white, slightly blurry moving picture of a rather adorable pair of eleven-year-old boy and girl sat quietly in the moving Hogwarts Express, sharing candies amongst each other with another student whose nose barely showed in the frame.

The boy was a scrawny pale thing with a mop of dark hair and large round spectacles the old man recognized all too well, and the girl had a larger load, atop her head, of an unruly, curly mess of dark hair, and though he was sure it could've almost been anyone else in that picture, the biggest giveaway was those large, deep-set eyes and thick brows she shared with the little witch of his faint memory, which was revealed as she turned to stare out the window in wonder.

"Espy, go fetch me some parchment and ink, would you?" he requested, gaze nonce wavering from the picture. "I have some letters to write. Also, make sure the family owl is the one to send it."

A lump was suddenly caught in his throat as he noticed the faint sadness glinting in the girl's eyes, if only faintly visible for a second.

Espy blinked in surprise; the old man barely wrote letters as it was, anymore, and even when he did, he rarely used the family owl— the second gift from the late witch he once adored as though his own granddaughter— unless he was writing to the Doctor, or his _actual_ granddaughter... the nice one.

Anyone else got that other new shitty, nameless owl that liked pecking irritatingly at people's fingers.

"Master?"

"I do believe it is about time the child met some family."

Espy gazed up at the old man in wonder before looking back down at the paper lying before her, her orchid eyes falling upon the moving-picture and staring blandly at it, for a moment, before a sudden look of realization shone upon her face with the brightest smile yet.

"Right away, Master!" the little elf chirped happily, all former disappointment gone and replaced by a sudden sense of joy and relief.

It seems, after all, that not all hope is lost.


	24. 11 - Matches And Odd Proposals

**November 3, 1991**

So my three stooges were perfectly fine, while I was comatose for two days, bedridden with a shrunken box of quickly expiring pastries crushed in the pocket of my robes. Oh, and, get this, they are friends now.

Whoop-de-do.

I had remained in the hospital wing another day, at Madame Pomegranate's request, and I was anxious to leave, but she wanted to be certain I would heal completely; apparently, my assumptions about the after-affect of the full moon were right, which was why my regenerative ability had digressed immensely. Much to my irritation, I was stuck with the annoying Hufflepuff who kept visiting me when no one wanted her here.

" _No one wants you here, you extra._ "

"Don't lie to yourself, you know you enjoy my company."

I gave her a flat look. " _Why_ are _you even here?_ "

She shrugged nonchalantly, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. "I heard you _spoke_ the other day, and I want to hear it."

" _Go drown in the Black Lake;_ I'm _sure the merpeople would love to give you something to hear._ "

"Hurtful."

" _Do_ n't _care_."

What surprised me most, after she left to do gods know what, was when the familiar Ravenclaw walked into the hospital wing and sat at my bedside, nose stuck in that book of his. I could only stare at him as he sat there, mute and unmoving; I would've asked him why he was here, but I hadn't addressed him telepathically before and did not wish to reveal this ability to, yet, another person. I would've written to him, but I left my board in my room and I hadn't learnt any summoning spells yet.

So, I was stuck in this awkward silence.

"I can't tell if your lack of comment, be it written or thought, is out of surprising timidity from your part or just laziness."

I deadpanned.

He deadpanned.

Then I deadpanned again when I realized I hadn't ever come to know his name; in my defence, though, I've only made effort to learn that of the few teachers I've come to respect, as well as Harry, Hermione, Ron, and— surprisingly— Neville. Wait, weren't the annoying twins' names' Gred and Forge... that's not right. But what about my neighbour in Charms? Dane? Dean? Yeah, it was Dean, Dean... something.

Hey, at least I tried; that's already quite a lot of people to remember.

" _Name's Laith._ "

" _Oh. Nice to meet you?_ "

It took me a moment to realize his mouth hadn't moved when he'd told me his name. It took me a moment longer to realize I'd replied just as he'd answered my silent inquiry.

I stared, very uncertain of how to react at my ridiculous slip-up, an involuntary quirk of my lips jolting me when I saw him staring back at me with that same deadpanned look on his face.

" _... shi—_ "

"I know you don't talk, but you should still watch your language, even in your head," he drawled, his tone laced with very apparent boredom as he stared at me through bright-coloured, half-lidded eyes.

" _— rt._ "

He snorted, eyes returning to his book. "Nice save."

I stared at him for a moment then relaxed myself unto the pillows beneath me, inclining my head ever so slightly as I openly scrutinized the usually stoic Ravenclaw— _Laith_.

" _You do not seem surprised by the revelation of my ability._ " I eyed him curiously. " _In fact, how is it you can do it too? I did not even try to peek into your mind,_ " I wondered, not even bothering to hide it anymore.

He snorted again. "We take a train hidden behind an enchanted wall to a castle hidden in the middle of nowhere, where we attend a school filled with crying plants, strange creatures, ghosts and whiny moving portraits, in which we are taught how to perform _magic_ — this isn't, by far, the weirdest thing out there."

My lips quirked up ever so slightly as I faintly recalled thinking something similar to that Dean boy.

" _Who are you?_ " I found myself asking.

"Just told you; the name's Laith."

I couldn't tell if it were true or not, but the way he said the name almost seemed foreign to, even, himself.

" _Why do I find that a little hard to believe?_ " I could not help but pry.

His lips quirked ever so slightly as he spared me a glance. "You're over-thinking this." I stared. "Let's just say it's who I am _now_."

The answer wasn't the least bit satisfying, but I accepted it nonetheless, especially after the annoying Hufflepuff came back, stopping short when she caught sight of _Laith_ , a grin etching upon her lips as her face lit up at the sight of him.

"Egypt!" she chirped happily, rushing over to take a seat as close to him as she could, much to his visible discomfort.

I feel you, man.

His face soured almost instantly at the mere sight of her. "Don't call me that."

"Long time no see!"

"You literally shoved yourself into my study group this morning."

"We should date!"

"No."

Her lower lips jutted out as she gazed at him dejectedly for a moment before turning to grin at me, and I suddenly noticed the three books nestled neatly atop her lap, dread filling me almost instantly as I deduced what they were for.

Someone stab me in the eyes right now.

"Dahlia!" she chirped.

" _Delilah_."

"Semantics," she waved me off. "Ready for another—"

" _No_."

"— fun study—"

" _Nay_."

"— session with—"

" _Non_."

"— good ol'—"

" _I can say it in_ Spanish _._ "

"— cousin—"

" ** _No_**."

"— Genie."

I snorted.

"Dammit!"

Laith snorted.

"Shut up!"

Laith and I shared a look, then snorted again.

"Ugh!"

Suddenly, this pointless conversation was interrupted by the door to the hospital wing opening, the only three kids in this school I more than tolerate walking in, my heart lifting uncharacteristically when I caught sight of a familiar yellow bundle in Hermione's arms, and my trusty board in Ron's hands. I blatantly ignored the disapproving look the older Ravenclaw sent me as I shot up from the bed and pushed past my aches till I stood before the only three people who seemed to tolerate— accept my listlessness.

The rest of the world are a whole bunch of freakin' extras.

The first thing I reached for was my board, snatching it from Carrot-Top's hands before stretching my arms forward and advancing toward the boy until our bodies were flush together as I'd seen other people do. When I pulled back, the boy looked really confused, though I was further confused when I noticed how red his face had suddenly become. Pushing past it, I turned to Hermione and did the same with her before grabbing my little cocoon. Then, turning to Harry, I took one step toward him and placed my numb lips on his cheek for a second before stepping back, ignoring his suddenly reddened face— does he have a fever? I'll have to check on that later...— as I unrolled my sleeping-bag, stepped into it with my board clutched to my chest, then zipped my cocoon up to my chin, my eyes instantly drooping shut as I relished in the comfort of my happy resting place.

The room was suddenly quiet, the silence only prompting me further into my much-awaited slumber.

"... what just happened?" came Genie's annoying voice.

"She fell asleep."

"Yeah, no shit, Egypt, I saw _that_."

"Then don't ask unnecessary questions."

"You're an arse."

"Already know I have a fine one— can't say the same about yours."

"Why, you— ugh! Shut it! And what the heck was that before?"

"What? I thought you wanted me to shut it."

" _Arse_. I meant that awkward hold she did, and that other thing..."

"I believe that was her trying to show her appreciation to her friends by hugging and kissing them."

" _That_ was a _hug_ and a _kiss_? Gods, I'd never seen anything so awkward..." She paused. "And why didn't she do that with me? I'm the one related to her—"

"How are you even sure you're—"

"You're... family?" Hermione asked this, sounding every bit confused as I was. "How is that even possible?" You tell her, Hermes. "It's practically global knowledge... well, in the wizarding community anyway... that she's an orphan."

Okay, there was no need for _that_ specification, Herms.

"Just because she's an orphan doesn't mean she doesn't have any family left. We may not be immediate family, but we're family all the same. I'm a Denholm, and we're a branch away from the Darrell family, but we're still Dawns. I'm a Dawn. My cousin— well, first cousin once removed— Clarisse is a Dawn. And history knows for sure Ella-Grace _Dawn_ was one, never mind that she later took on her married name."

My eyes flew open at the mention of the name.

"Ella?" Harry asked.

"Grace... and some," Genie affirmed. "That caterpillar's mother. Meaning, _she_ is most definitely a Dawn."

"Well, you've done your research," Laith deadpanned.

Genie sighed. "You could also tell by her eyes— it's a Dawn trait."

"Your eyes are nothing alike."

"It doesn't look it." She agreed. "But it's because hers have been spelled, somehow."

I frowned at this, feeling uneasy by the suggestion, but not all too surprised if that did turn out to be the case. Who could have done that, though? Only person I know who could've cast something on me would be my mother, or perhaps even my grandparents from her side. But why would they have done that in the first place? What could a person gain from changing a baby's eye-colour? And how is it possible that it lasted this long? I don't actively look myself in the mirror, but I'm almost certain my eyes haven't ever changed colour.

"And how are you sure it isn't a result of an accidental metamorphmagic?"

My eyes fluttered shut. _Ugh_ , this is too much information to process.

 _Harry_ made an off noise of protest. "That's like a lot of big words, so just calm down."

Genie snorted at his remark, but replied to Laith nonetheless "Other than the fact that her grades show how lacking her knowledge in magic is?"

"... point taken."

"There's also the fact that there has never been Metamorphmagus in our line of family. I can sense the magic surrounding her; it's nothing like anything I've felt before, but I can tell you it's much stronger than her own."

He hummed. "Must be really something then, considering how strong the magical core runs in your family."

"I don't think she knows you're family, though." Ron said this.

"Obviously," Genie grumbled. "If she would just stop running away from me, she would've known already!"

"I... I still don't get why that's got you acting all offended."

"How can I not be?! Here I stand, completely disregarded, _and_ utterly unappreciated, while the lot of you get weird hugs and kisses!" she exclaimed. "How is it you're already on her "favourites" list, even though _I'm_ the one that's come to see her at nearly every possible waking moment since they brought her in here?!"

" ** _That's because no one wants you here,_** _you extra!_ " Laith and I retorted in near unison.

"Rude!"

"You've been pestering her since you've met—"

"Expressing concern for a fellow schoolmate."

"You brought her schoolwork. Who brings a hospitalized person schoolwork?"

"... a concerned fellow schoolmate."

"So this has nothing to do with the fact that you've been so convinced from the start that you're related."

"... no?"

"... you're hopeless, _Genie_."

"Shut up, _Egypt_."

"What are you lot doing here?" came Madame Pomegranate's shrilly voice.

"We—"

"Too many of you!"

"Madame—"

"Out!"

"Please—"

"All of you! I have many sick here in need of rest!"

"But—"

"All of you, out!"

My eyes flew open as the lot of them scrambled about, hastily making their way to the door. Thinking quickly, I braced myself, muscles tensing as I pushed sideways, rolling myself after them.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Godsdammit!!

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

... _b_ _ullshit!_

**November 8, 1991**

My nose itched for a second before I startled myself upon uttering a sudden involuntary expulsion of air from my nose and mouth as a result of the irritation in my nostrils. I blinked, baffled by this sudden action of mine, wiping my nose as my gaze flitted across the grounds below from where I sat at the highest room of the West Tower, at one of the many open windows surrounding the Owlery.

" _Bless you,_ " Arrow hooted from where he sat, comfortably nestled on my lap.

I blinked, eyeing him oddly. " _... thank you?_ "

It was a circular stone room. It wasn't the most sanitary place in the castle, from what I'd noticed upon entering the room for the first time in an attempt to get away from everyone else pestering me about the upcoming Spinach game; Harry and I would be playing, tomorrow, in our first match after weeks of training. Gryffindor versus Slytherin; if our team won, we would move up into second place in the House championship.

The Owlery was reserved for the owls, be it familiars of the castle, or that of the other students, and so it was made that the windows had no glass, as to facilitate the free coming and going of said birds whenever they had to deliver something or merely wished to go out flying.

Students were free to seek their owls to send letters and whatnots to their families, though I understood why none came so often and opted for waiting to receive something instead before sending something in return; firstly, the room was very drafty. The cold didn't really bother me, but to any other normal person who didn't have the advantage that came with being a shifter, they had to endure it for however long they remained up here. Another factor supplying to the others' reluctance to spend any time here is due to the fact that the floor was entirely covered in straw, owl shi— _droppings_ , and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles.

It was not a pleasant environment to be in, but, excluding the constant hooting of the owls, it was the best place to be in if one wished to be alone. Considering how laz— _listless_ I am, surely, this would be the last place someone would come looking for me.

"Oi, Deli!"

My heart jumped out of my chest as I nearly toppled over, startling a hooting Arrow out of my lap.

 **_Crappin'— shi— fu—_ ** ****

I huffed, my arms and hands tense as I held onto the ledge to keep myself from falling, startled once more when my familiar flew right into my face, hooting in irritation, only adding to my own.

"There you are!"

" _Geez! What gives?! Almost plummeted to my death!_ " Arrow demanded.

I glared at the black bird. " _At least you can fly!_ "

" _... oh, yeah. Welp! Imma fly outta here._ "

My eyes narrowed dangerously at the owl. " _Do not dare—_ "

" _By-ye!_ " the traitor hooted before flying off.

"We've been looking all over for you."

My brow twitched as I exhaled through my nose, settling back down where I'd been sitting, crossing my arms over my chest as I levelled the boy with a glare. " _Did it not occur to any of you that such was because I wished to be alone?_ "

Ron snorted. "Who would want to be alone in the Owlery?" His nose scrunched in disgust as he glanced around. "Or be here at all?"

My eye twitched.

"Snape took Harry's book for Quidditch—"

" _That has nothing to do with me._ "

"So we came looking for you because—"

" _I could really care less about the idiocies you guys get up to._ "

"We thought you could help us come up with a way to get it back."

I turned to look Carrot-Top dead in the eyes. " _Was somebody hurt?_ "

He blinked. "No...?"

" _Then what does that have to do with me?_ "

"Deli!"

I rolled my eyes, averting my gaze.

"You should've just led with "Harry's in trouble," kid. She wouldn't have even questioned it. Now, she really doesn't give a crap."

I turned back, my gaze shifting past Carrot-Top as the latter turned to look as well, finding the familiar Ravenclaw standing by the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, his robes bundled and stuffed into a schoolbag slung loosely over his shoulder.

"Bloody hell, you're everywhere!" Ron uttered. "What are you doing here _now_?"

Laith snorted. "Why else would anyone be here?" he retorted as he brought what looked like a letter out of his pocket.

" _I ran away._ "

He quirked a brow, seemingly amused. "Like you would run."

I shrugged. " _If the occasion demands it._ "

"Deli." My gaze shifted to Carrot-Top. "Are you coming then?"

" _What, do I look like a babysitter? Fix your own problems._ "

Eyes wide with surprise, his mouth open and closed, much like that of a fish. "B-but it's Harry!"

" _So? I am not his mother to be doing everything for him._ " I averted my gaze, irritated. " _If you lost a library book, then go find the librarian and complain to her— I know she can get quite edgy when it comes to her books._ "

Seriously, I've tried many times to take some books out of the library to avoid reading where many prying eyes nosied around, but was always caught and scolded by Madame... something. I'd learned my lesson and so I took to sneaking into a dark corner with my yellow comforter and zipping the thing up to my head, reading whatever book I chose with my wand for a flashlight. It was not exactly comfortable... or a practical way to go about things, but it got the job done; I was a fast reader... when I wasn't being distracted by stupidities.

"Why don't you just help them?" Laith asked quietly.

I glanced over at the older boy, slightly taken with the sight of him feeding and caring for a beauty with feathers black as night, streaked with a few odd white ones as well before it flew off, his letter attached to its feet.

" _I should not have to_ ," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You'll have to go back down for dinner anyway— why not just do it then? There's no detour to take. You can literally just take care of it on the way," he pointed out.

I stared, my eyes momentarily shifting toward his owl that flew away before averting my gaze, crossing my arms over my chest. " _No_."

He sighed. "Kid, hold my bag."

"Erm, o-okay!" came Ron's baffled reply.

My gaze remained trained on the skies above before I suddenly found myself staring at the shit-covered floor as I was hoisted atop the older Ravenclaw's shoulder. Blinking, I uncrossed my arms from over my chest and tapped him on his lower back, as it was the only place I could reach without much effort.

" _Put me down, you abnormally tall extra_."

"So now _I_ 'm an extra?" he mused.

" _Unless you put me down and pretend I was never here._ "

"Tempting, but no."

"Ron _, tell him._ "

"Yeah, no— he's doing me a huge favour."

" _You traitor._ "

As comfortable as I found being carried around... _generally_ , this time was not comfortable at all. All I could see was the floor and a pair of round buttocks.

"Stop staring at my ass."

" _It is a bit hard when that is really all I can stare at in this position,_ " I deadpanned.

With each step he took, I started to feel the blood rushing to my head. It wasn't entirely bothersome, so I didn't mention anything about it, but it turns out I didn't need to as we finally came to a halt. Stopping in front of a large door, I was placed back unto my feet and instantly turned my back to them as a cough built its way up my throat. The sudden tightness, nearly suffocating me with discomfort resurfaced as I coughed into my sleeve.

".... sorry, I didn't think it all the way through when I carried you."

" _Clearly_."

Obviously, him carrying me head down had nothing to do with my coughing; I had a problem with my lungs, from what I could remember Dr. Cullen saying during my first checkup. It would take a long time to heal... if it healed at all, and I still wasn't sure I would be able to talk, despite the past few... _glitches_ I recently had. I had thought I was getting better as my throat didn't bother me all that much in general anymore, and I hadn't really coughed because of my condition, in well over two years, other than the occasional contact with dust and such prompting an inevitable one.

None that spat blood into my sleeve though, like just a moment ago. Thank gods my robe is black, otherwise, I'd be stuck being bombarded by questions I'd rather not answer.

Irritated, I shook my head to myself and inhaled softly through my nose before reaching for the door, only for it to smash right into my face. I blinked, stunned by the sudden hit, I could only stare ahead in my shock, my hand unmoving as it remained suspended, frozen in my previous action.

" _Delilah!_ "

Ron and Laith had exclaimed themselves simultaneously, but I was too in shock to react. I remained as I was, blinking as I felt something trickle from my forehead down my nose.

"Huh?"

I was met with a pair of large brown orbs, blinking back at me, a bland look similar to the one I usually wear dimming her eyes. Then, after another tick of her second, it was like flipping a switch as her eyes seemed to suddenly light up as she seemingly grasped... something before they widened in horror.

"Oh, Merlin! I am _so_ sorry!"

I blinked, feeling even more startled by her very delayed panicked reaction. Why was she panicking?

"Laith! Quick! Transfigure something into... _something_ to stop the bleeding!!"

I blinked again. Bleeding?

Suddenly, I felt a warmth radiating from my left before something soft pressed against my forehead, and I grew quickly aware of it becoming damp against my skin.

"Lia, you hopeless raven." Laith sighed, and I realized he was the one next to me. "Transfiguration is _your_ forte. Also, stop slamming doors on your way in and out of places."

True to his words, the embarrassed girl before me wore the robes respective to the House of Ravenclaw, the blue a stark contrast to her reddening face as she averted her gaze.

"Sorry..." she squeaked.

"You're bleeding, Dels— that's a _lot_ of blood," Ron mumbled, face flushed red to the roots of his hair.

"This _is why_ I _do_ n't _go places_ ," I deadpanned.

"You're just lazy," Laith snorted before turning his attention back to Ron. "Your other friend will have to wait; Delilah must be taken to the hospital wing."

He paused for a moment, his usually bland expression turning pensive as he thought for a moment, his eyes switching back and forth between Ron and... the female Ravenclaw.

"Actually, Lia, mayhaps you can help this kid. Potter checked out a book from the library with Pince's approval, but Snape confiscated it."

"For no reason," Ron needlessly chimed in.

The girl hummed, hugging her books to her chest as she nodded. "She does hate it when he does that. I'll have a word with her. Come along... Ron, is it?" He nodded. "We'll go see Madame Pince about the book Harry borrowed. You'll have it back in no time."

Ron hesitated for a moment, glancing my way. "I..."

"Go ahead," Laith waved him off. "Delilah will be fine. I'll take her to the hospital wing now, so Pomfrey can fix her up."

Ron frowned. "Are you sure, Deli?"

I gave him one thumb up and that was all that was needed for him to follow after the Ravenclaw just as Laith picked me up once more, this time holding me to his chest after leaving his bag with his Housemate.

"I hope this is not too uncomfortable," Laith said after a long moment of silence.

I shrugged a shoulder. " _So long as I have an excuse to not have to walk, I am fine with it._ "

He snorted. "Of course _you_ would be."

I stared up at him for a moment longer, gaze focusing to the best of my ability through listless, half-lidded eyes as I took in his distinct features, the accents of a foreigner like most of everyone else inhabiting this castle, despite the fact that more than half the population in this establishment had, as people say, fair skin.

Raising a finger, I brought it up to his face and pocked his cheek, feeling the faint trace of a dimple.

" _Egypt_."

His face contorted into something between an amused smile and a grimace. "Don't start calling me that, lest you want me to call you Dahlia as well."

Honestly, I didn't really mind it so much. I just disliked it because Genie called me that, but anyone else, I feel I wouldn't really care much. From what I can faintly remember, someone used to call me it when I was very young, but the memory was so foggy it almost felt like a dream.

"You know, for someone as lazy as you are, you sure think a lot."

I snorted, shaking my head. " _I am not lazy._ " He halted in his step, giving me a look. " _I am just... conserving energy._ "

That sounds about right... ish.

" _Energy-saving mooode._ "

He stared at me for quite some time, his sapphire eyes intense as they bore into mine. I wanted to look away, wishing he would stop staring— no matter how well I can ignore it sometimes, I don't like it when people stare. It makes my skin crawl, not knowing what they thought. Although I could propel my own mind into theirs to peek at their thoughts, I tried not to make a habit of it as the feeling that came with it was a far cry from propelling my own thoughts into their heads.

When I spoke to people through my mind, I was potentially piercing a tiny hole in the back of their heads, small enough that it didn't leave a permanent alleyway for people who took leisure in doing so out of malice, sealing shut as soon as I pulled my thoughts back to myself.

Pushing my way into their heads to read their thoughts, however, was an entirely different thing altogether. It felt as though I were smashing my head into a thick, wooden plank, though rather than just getting a headache, it felt as though my skull was being forced apart the longer I lingered in a person's mind, hence why I avoid it unless circumstances demand it.

As much as I hated invading other peoples' thoughts, I sometimes let myself be tempted by this ability most of my kind possess. In a pack, it was a natural skill to have, being able to switch thoughts back and forth with members of your pack, and even others formed through mere acquaintance or alliances.

It frustrated me to no end being unable to do so with mere weaklin— extr— _kids_ who didn't even have practice against this sort of psychic invasion, even if I knew it was wrong to do so even if for mere practice.

With Harry, it didn't feel this way anymore. At least not as much; I still sometimes got the tingles of a migraine, but otherwise didn't make a habit of it. I used to peek into his mind, back when we were neighbours, because he had the bad habit of hiding the things done to him to not worry others.

With Hermione... she was pretty much a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Her thoughts were always jumbled, and ran wild in her head, clashing with one another. It was like being in a room with dozens of Road Runners crashing into each other.

Honestly, at this point, I'd rather the skull-tearing migraine from others than the confusion and dizziness that came with any attempt at reading her mind.

With Ron... this is the first time I've ever met anyone that has quite some in common with me, and, frankly, I don't think that's such a good thing. In a group of four, there should be people with stark differences that balance each other out.

Harry is the "golden boy." Hermione is the brains behind... well, anything; seriously, no matter how smart I may have gotten myself, just thinking makes me tired.

Ron... Ron and I are both lazy as a sloth.

Though he is more active out of habit, having been brought up the way he was, I literally just let my years of servitude drain all energy from me the moment I could afford to do so. And Ron, without a firm voice from either parent of his constantly at his hind, took the same opportunity I saw. Though, I guess there is one major factor that sets us apart.

I fall asleep whenever, anywhere, and any way.

I can't help it, and I don't know why. It's a recent development; I'd become listless as soon as I grew somewhat comfortable with my new lifestyle in Bellefaire. The falling asleep whenever, though, is newer, having begun about two or so months before I first moved in with the Harrisons.

"I thought we had agreed you wouldn't come back here for quite a while," came the stern voice of Madame Pom... granate.

No joke; I'm pretty sure I fell asleep on our way up... which would explain why the school's healer's voice startled me.

I don't easily startle.

"In her defence, this was Emilia's fault."

He's so reliable.

"Hmm, yes, her and her bad habit of slamming doors into people's faces." She sighed. "I'm not surprised. Frankly, though, I was expecting the fault to fall on Miss Denholm."

"She does have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with Delilah," Laith agreed.

That's an understatement.

I felt my eyes flutter again as soon as I was settled on one of the beds, feeling sleepiness suddenly take over me once more. I fought to keep my head from falling forward as the healer treated it, focusing my drifting gaze on Laith, who stared back at me, the look on his face unreadable as ever.

"Madame Pomfrey," he said suddenly. "If you could take a blood sample as well, please. I suspect there is something more to her sudden sleeping spells, but my only way of finding out is _outside of school_. I would have to send them a sample and a small, filled-out questionnaire in order to get an answer."

Reliable and proactive.

The healer was quiet for a moment as she finished patching me up before she looked back at him, a warm, trusting smile on her face. "All right, young man. I trust _you_ know what you're doing. Just let me know whatever you find out."

Suddenly, there was an odd, but not unfamiliar prickling feeling on my arm, right in the crook of my elbow. I glanced down, merely blinking when I found a syringe piercing my skin, extracting blood. Why did no one ask me if I was okay to have some blood removed from my body? I am standing— _sitting_ right here, after all.

Gaze shifting down to me, Pomegranate smiled. "Now you stay here for a bit, child. Don't want you having a fainting spell from that hit. You rest here, and I'll have the house-elves bring you two some food."

I was mildly surprised she knew I was aware of the elves, but then again Grandpa D may have told the staff I was. That would explain why those who kept a closer eye on me during my Oestrus weren't so much as fazed when Deesey or Libly would openly pop in and out of my room.

"A pescatarian meal would be nice, please," Laith requested as she handed him a vial with my blood. "It's a lighter intake, and would hopefully leave her feeling a little less sleepy than usual."

"Of course, dear."

As soon as she was gone, I turned my attention back to him and pointed at the vial he was storing into a dark pouch strapped to his waist.

"There is a chance you may have a medical condition."

" _But I cannot catch illness._ " Clearly, that is a lie, otherwise, I would _talk_.

"With Madame Pomfrey's approval, I am merely going to verify with an outside expert. We should have an answer by tomorrow noon, after the game."

I sighed, my lower lip jutting out as I just realized it often tends to do. " _You are a very dependable person._ "

That is no lie. I could definitely do with someone like that in my life— doing everything I find to be of great inconvenience for me. That's it, I have made my decision. Sorry for my betrayal, Hermione.

"We _should get_ marriage _._ "

"... no."

" _It would keep Genie away._ "

"Still no."

" _I will pay you, then._ "

"Assembling to say no."

" _I have a_ lot _of money... gold... stuff._ " I... don't remember the wizarding currency.

"Every moment is an adventure to say no."

" _You suck, and I do not like you._ "

"No one said you had to."

Ugh. My lower lip jutted out once more as my shoulders slumped the instant Deesey popped into the hospital wing, Libly scampering close behind. Both were holding trays of food, bright smiles etched on their weird little faces as they scurried toward us.

"Miss Dawn!"

"Master Laith!"

" _I thought we agreed I was not to be called Dawn._ " My gaze was flat as I stared Deesey down.

She merely smiled back up at me as she placed her tray before me. "Yes, of course. Apologies, Miss Lilah."

I deadpanned.

"Enjoy your meals!"

And with a pop, the two little elves were gone, and I was left to stare at an entire, cooked, dead fish. Beside it was a bowl of rice, a bowl of brown beans, a bowl of salad, and a bowl of cherries. Utensils were lain straight beside a goblet filled with apple juice, by the smell of it.

Good.

Pumpkin juice can go shit elsewhere.

" _Thank you for choosing the food for me._ "

I never know what to choose when I'm in the great hall, and thinking that through always gives me a headache. Having someone choose for me is the best way to go about it, but Harry always puts too much on my place, hence why I don't let him choose for me.

"No problem."

Tentatively, I pocked at the cooked fish with a fork and carefully brought it up to my mouth. After what felt like forever, the cold metal of the utensil touched my lips, and I realized I hadn't actually picked any food with it.

Also, I don't know how to eat fish; I've never had any.

"Delilah... do you not like your meal?" he asked. "I could request something else for you."

I glanced up at him and shrugged. " _... I like it just fine._ " Even though I haven't actually tasted it yet. " _I generally eat anything, as long as it tastes good. There are very few foods that I really dislike._ "

He inclined his head to one side. "That's good," he said after swallowing a mouthful. "With all the young people eating junk nowadays, whenever they can, it's nice that you can eat anything."

I glanced over at his plate and noticed how he had gone about eating the fish. So you have to pry it open and take out the bones?

... I don't know how I feel about that.

... also, it seems like a lot of work.

My gaze dropped down to my own plate, and I poked at the fish a bit more before giving up with a sigh, placing my fork down and lifting the plate. " _Laith, taking the bones out of this looks like a pain, so here._ " I held it out for him to take.

He deadpanned. "Generally speaking, that is an excellent example of pickiness."

I blinked as I came to understand his words. _I see_...

" _If the reason for not liking the food is because it is difficult, then there are a lot._ "

He snorted. "So, what do you consider difficult?"

I thought for a moment, picking at my rice. " _Small things... like beans and corn._ " They have to be cooked enough that they don't fall off the fork or spoon, but if they're too cooked, they don't taste as good anymore. " _Fruit that I have to peel the skin off myself. Especially if there are nasty little seeds in them._ "

He deadpanned once more. "In that case, there isn't really anything on that tray that you can eat."

I looked down at the bowls and plates on my tray, tilting my head to one side. " _... I can go for the rice... and maybe the salad too._ "

"I'm sorry, I didn't ask before requesting the food." I shrugged. "If you'd like, I can at least remove the fish bones for you."

Now I feel bad; maybe I should put in _some_ effort. Looking up at him, I shook my head, feeling a sudden determination wash over me, I nearly threw up.

Just this once, then never again.

I fiddled with my fork, trying to remove as much meat from the bones as I could. When I was done, I felt myself filled with a sudden disappointment when I saw the result of my hard work— barely worth three spoonfuls of fish.

" _... is there always this little left to eat afterwards?_ "

It was eerily silent for a moment before the plate was suddenly taken from my tray and worked on. My shoulders slumped, disappointed with myself and my inability to do this simple task.

" _Thank you,_ " I said as he worked on separating the bones from the fish on my plate. " _And sorry._ "

"It's fine." He shrugged. "It couldn't keep going on like this— it was too pitiful to keep watching."

I inclined my head forward, respectfully, before digging into my meal. In the end, I managed to eat everything, minus the cherries— I don't like the surprise-seeds they carry inside them. It's a choking hazard.

After we were done, I stood, wobbling a little.

"Are you okay to walk back?"

I waved him off as I slowly followed behind him to the door. " _Just fine. I have just not been this full in quite some time._ "

"That's good to hear. There's nothing as satisfying as a full belly."

Suddenly, my legs gave out beneath me and my face was touching the floor.

"Delilah!!" He dropped down beside me and carefully lifted me up, looking me over. "Dammit, Delilah! Are you okay?! Are you allergic to fish, or something? That would've been good to know before digging in."

I lifted a trembling arm up to my stomach, eyes fluttering. " _My stomach is so full. I feel sleepy enough to die._ "

It was eerily silent for a moment as the Ravenclaw merely stared down at me, gaze flattened, all previous concern washed away at my words.

" _Normally, I always want to sleep after a meal, but this feels horrible..._ "

"You're a sloth with the stomach of a newborn baby."

You know what? I'm actually starting to see it too. I wonder if my next soul-animal will be a sloth...

So, with the female Ravenclaw's help, Ron managed to get the library-keeper to get Harry's book back. What had irritated me most, though, was how Harry had taken it upon himself to get his book back while Ron had sought help.

I don't particularly care for rules, but it's easier to follow them than looking for the perfect way to break them and come out completely unscathed.

As annoyed as I was with the fact that Ron had sought me out to get Harry's book back, it was still a lot less troublesome than what Harry did, having led him to entirely false suspicions.

"You know what this means? He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him— he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

So, Harry is now adamant Snape had something to do with the troll stumbling into the school. Now that I thought about it, perhaps someone had let it in, but I was ninety-eight-percent certain it was not Severus Snape.

The other two-percent was thrown off by how shady and sketchy he acted.

Thankfully, Hermes wasn't easily swayed by Harry's theories. She was rational, something I greatly appreciated.

"No, of course, not, Harry. He wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

Especially if he was one of the teachers who had a hand in keeping said item safe.

Ron— as much as I had appreciated his attempt at finding some sort of help to get Harry's book back earlier— was getting on my nerves again, as he would any other time.

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," he snapped. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

By this point, I'd had enough, so I did the first most logical thing that came to mind.

I fell asleep. Again. Maybe I do have some other medical condition.

Ugh, what a pain.

**November 9, 1991**

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

" _No._ "

Hermes' eyes narrowed at me. "Dela."

Also, she'd taken to calling me "Dela" for whatever reason. I didn't mind, though, I quite liked it. It was much better than "Deli" anyway, though I lacked the energy... or care to object it either way.

" _Yes?_ "

"Eat something."

" _No._ "

She huffed. "Just a bit of toast," she wheedled.

" _Not hungry._ "

"Me neither," Harry refused as he pushed away the plate Ron had all but shoved in front of him.

"You'll need your strength," said Shame... ugh. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team and Chasers need to give out strong throws."

I groaned, took the slice of toast off of Ron's plate, took a small bite out of it and threw it back. I then grabbed three sausages, put them on a plate and gave them to Harry. He blushed when I poked his cheek before motioning for him to eat.

"Thanks," he said.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch; the excitement in the chatter and bouts of cheer and laughter was heard from all the way inside the locker room, which was divided into two sections, one for boys, and the other for girls.

When the lot of us were done changing into our scarlet Quidditch robes, the whole team gathered in the main lounge of the Gryffindor locker room, the eight of us gathered around the benches. Yes, _eight_ of us; our team consisted of three Chasers, being Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and myself, with an Alicia Spinnet as a substitute, meant to fly in were one of us to fall. Then we had our two Beaters, being the Weasley twins, our Keeper and Captain, being Oliver Wood, and, of course, our Seeker— Harry.

I found it was a good idea to have a substitute for Chasers, but perhaps if there were one for every position, I think the games would be much better.

Wood cleared his throat for silence. "Okay, men."

There was a deadpanning silence following the beginning of his speech when he didn't continue, mainly due to the fact that the team was literally half boys and half girls.

"And women," Angelina added, tone flat.

"And women," Wood agreed sheepishly. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told us newcomers, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at us all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry and I followed Fred and George out of the locker room and walked onto the field to loud cheers. My gaze instantly shifted around the field, surprised at the sight of all the people. The field itself had not particularly changed, aside from the obvious set-up for the game itself. The seats were raised higher in the air, though, so it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Though, I guess it would be easier for them to see the gameplay from up there, considering the entire game happens in the air.

Among the Gryffindor-colored stands, there was a large banner on display. It said Potter for President and Hawkins for Princess— why princess, I don't know— and it had a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Huh, as weird as I found this to be, it was also quite flattering.

Seriously, though— why _princess_?

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once we were all gathered around her.

I noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, a sixth-year who, once he caught sight of me, winked at me and smirked cockily.

... I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

"Mount your brooms, please."

I sat on my Nimbus Two Thousand, body tense with dread. No matter how flattered I was by the cheers for our team, and Harry and I specifically, I hadn't wanted to play, to begin with. This demands too much effort, and too much action, nowadays, drains me quickly; I fear I may fall asleep mid-air, and the thought of falling more than twenty feet in the air without a way to stop myself is, admittedly, frightening.

Maybe I should feign being ill— after all, we do have a substitute; I'm sure Alicia wouldn't mind playing instead. My scheming was cut short when Madam Hooch suddenly gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Dammit.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air, and we were off.

The Slytherin Chasers instantly went for the Waffle, but I— surprisingly— reacted quickly. Hooking a leg on my broom, I swung down and snatched the ball before swinging back up with it snug, under my arm.

There were gasps and cheers in the crowd.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Delilah Hawkins of Gryffindor— our new Chaser... what an excellent new addition to our team, that girl is. And for a first-year, rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend close friend... besides Genie, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Angelina Johnson— and back to Hawkins and— no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes— Flint flying like an eagle up there— he's going to sc— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood!

And the Gryffindors take the Quaffle— that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and— OUCH— that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger— Quaffle taken by the Slytherins— that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger— sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which— nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway.

And Hawkins is back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes— she's really flying— dodges a speeding Bludger— the goalposts are ahead— come on, now, Delilah— Keeper Bletchley dives— misses— GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

And I want to sleep now...

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins the moment I threw the Waffle through a hoop. The game pretty much went like this for a while, and I was quickly growing bored of the repetition.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the— wait a moment— was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Pussy (... that's what Lee said, wasn't it?) dropped the Waffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

I saw it. Clearly, Harry did too, and so had the Slytherin Seeker.

In a great rush, Harry dove downward after the streak of gold. Neck and neck, they hurtled toward the Snitch— all the other offensive players, myself included, seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as we all hung in midair to watch the two competing for the tiny, golden comet. Snapping myself back to reality with a yawn, I took this opportunity and quickly dove for the Waffle and scored.

The score was cheered for, but my attention was hauled back toward Harry the instant his broom spun off course as he held on for dear life, the fault lying on the Slytherin Captain.

"Foul!" screamed my fellow House-mates from the stands.

I agree.

Madam Hooch spoke then angrily to the Slytherin Captain and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor.

"So— after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

My lips quirked, almost curling as I felt a spur of, what I believe is, amusement.

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Bell, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Then, my attention was, once again, hauled back toward Harry just as he'd dodged yet another Bludger before his broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, I thought he was going to fall, the slightest tension easing off my shoulders when I saw him gripping his broom tightly with both his hands and knees, locking himself atop it. Then, out of nowhere, the same happened again, but, this time, it happened to my broom. I tightened my grip on it, holding on for dear life as I tried to regain control over it.

What is going on?

Was the magic on the broom that made it fly just not working right anymore? But how— it's brand new! Perhaps someone ji— yes, that's it. Someone jinxed my broom; Genie had told me some people had it out for me— nothing new, but why would someone _here_ hate me so much to do this?

I... I haven't done anything wrong, have I?

I mean... I know I'm listle— okay, I know I laze around. A lot. I don't pay much attention in class unless I find the subject interesting enough to keep awake, and I procrastinate on my schoolwork so much, Hermione sometimes ends up doing it for me at the last minute, even though I never ask her to—

Wait...

Gods, please let it not be my Hermes doing this. Seriously, I had planned to _marriage_ her if things didn't work out with Laith... wait, is it legal to _marriage_ someone of the same gender? I've never heard of such relations, but there have to have been some ways around such things... and what is with all these unsavoury thoughts? I'm a child, and I was taught— _when_ I was taught— to never think greedily, even if it was all right to be selfish sometimes. Thinking of Hermione so objectifyingly for the sake of my own future convenience is a horrible thing to do... even if she might be the one trying to kill me right now.

No, I shouldn't think it's her— she's never given me a reason to doubt her thus far, not when I met her, not when she befrie— _acquainted_ me, and certainly never thus far. She has loyally remained at my side... as a friend should. She has kept me on my toes, looking out for me, even if I've never asked her...

If I ever build a pack, she will definitely be considered as my Beta.

"Slytherin in possession— Flint with the Quaffle— passes Johnson— passes Bell— hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose— only joking, Professor— Slytherins score—"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying- him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

After regaining control of my Nimbus, I dove for the _Quaffle_ and zoomed past the gathering Slytherins, tossing it to Bell, who tossed it back to me as we neared the hoops of the opposing team, where I managed to score yet another few points for my team. After the ball went through, I flew off to the side, letting my fellow Chasers have at it as I surveyed our surroundings, looking around for the person jinxing mine and Harry's brooms when, suddenly, people were pointed up at Harry all over the stands.

I looked up and felt my eyes widen as his broom started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and he swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand. I was about to dive forward, towards him but, once again, my broom spun out of control, it suddenly tried to dive ready to smack into the ground, when it suddenly jerked straight upwards. I had nearly regained full control over my broom, struggling as I flew towards Harry.

" _Harry!_ "

I had forced my call into his head, hauling his attention my way. He reached up as I outstretched my own toward him when his eyes suddenly went wide as they gazed past my shoulder. Then, my broom gave another jerk, curving straight into the path of a Bludger, as it slammed hard into my right shoulder, eliciting a pained, _loud_ yelp from me.

Ugh, that really hurts... I think I felt something snap in there... probably a bone dislocation... would be much better than a break. At least then, I can simply have it snapped back into place, and the worse thing I'd suffer would be soreness.

I struggled to keep myself atop my broom as my left hand instinctively flew up to clutch at my shoulder, while I tried to keep a hold of my broom with the same injured arm. Dumbest thing one could do, but I am stuck in the air, so not much else I can do. Pushing through the pain, I let go of my shoulder and depended on my right hand, gripping my broom's handle with it instead before I could completely fall off, my panicked gaze finding its way back up to Harry.

I don't know how to do counter curses, so I had no idea how to help him.

His broom was now vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The Weasleys flew up, too, to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good— every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

A sudden yelp coming from the teachers' stand caught my attention, and so, after scoring another point with great struggle, I averted my gaze in that direction and noticed Snape was... on fire.

Nope. Nuh-uh— I refuse to believe it was him— it couldn't possibly have been.

I know he doesn't particularly like Harry, but even so, I don't think he would've gone to the point where he would end up jinxing either one of us.

Whatsoever, the fire seemed to distract whoever was casting the jinx, and it was more than enough to get us back on track.

Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto his broom. He was speeding toward the ground when I saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick, but then I noticed from the corner of my eye another Bludger flying towards him.

... you've got to be shitting me.

Without further linger or hesitation, I dove in between them, and the next thing I knew, I was crash diving after hearing the earlier snap in my shoulder emitting a loud crack that had me wincing and whimpering in pain after I landed harshly on the ground below.

"I've got the Snitch!"

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it!"

"But wait," I heard Lee say. "Is that Delilah on the ground of the field?"

Just then, many more gasps were heard before I could faintly hear people rushing toward me.

"Delilah? Are you all right, dear girl? What's wrong? Where have you been hurt?" Grandpa D asked.

I groaned, lips parting with a grimace. " **Bludger** ," I said.

"Severus," Grandpa D called.

Then suddenly, Snape practically appeared behind him and stepped forward, kneeling down to pick me up. The rockety movement, however, was so quick and discomforting that I could not find the strength to suppress the whimper that escaped my lips.

"Sorry," he muttered.

I shrugged my uninjured shoulder, eyes fluttering before I felt myself drift into unconsciousness.

~~ ♦ ~~

Familiarity is, generally, a good thing, but not when it stems from a nightmare.

Cold, loneliness... not knowing where you are, or what to prepare for. The anticipation that someone horrible is going to show up, and something terrible is about to happen as that familiar dark, murderous aura surges out of nowhere and embraces you to near suffocation...

I was scared.

When my senses became a little more attuned, I found myself lain on a cold stone floor. Through familiar but fading aches all over my body, I carefully sat myself up as I gazed around, squinting slightly as my eyes had a hard time adjusting to the darkness surrounding me.

Odd; as a shifter, sight was one of the main senses enhanced after the first phase.

When my eyes finally acclimated to my surroundings, I found myself in a long, dark corridor, dimly illuminated with torches screwed to the stone walls. A shiver ran down my spine as I pushed myself onto my feet and threw a glance over my shoulder before looking back ahead of me. The hallway seemed endless, and the dark, ominous aura that surrounded me left me feeling shaken.

Suddenly, my lips parted and I was startled as I found myself speaking aloud. "Hello?"

The voice that left my lips was unfamiliar, digging a larger pit in my stomach as it bounced off the walls in a frightening echo that sent shivers down my spine once more. Hesitantly, I took a step forward, and then another, and so forth; it felt colder the further I walked. The shivers I felt ran down to my feet as an invisible breeze brushed against the hem of my school robe, the cloth fluttering, bellowing with my every step, no matter how small it was.

" _Daaaaaawwwnnn..._ "

I blinked, faltering in my step when the whisper of a hiss murmured the name. Who was there that could possibly be aware of that name?

" _Daaaaaawwwnnn..._ "

And there it goes again, creeping shivers down my spine. Seriously, who is there?

" _Daaaaaawwwnnn..._ "

With a shuddering breath, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my robe and dragged my feet as I continued onward.

"Who is there?" I demanded, but the voice continued to hiss, a buzzing annoyance like a fly trying to get in your face, that I almost swatted at the empty air.

" _Daaaaaawwwnnn..._ "

Ugh, so annoying.

"Delilah!"

Suddenly, I stumbled, startled out of my thoughts. Shoved down by a seemingly invisible force of some kind, I glanced behind me, puzzled by the suddenty that led to this result, feeling even more baffled when I found myself staring at a very odd-looking... door? I dunno what I'm looking at here— it's some large, round heavy hatchway of sorts, with eight... _slithery_ -shaped locks on the front.

Then, the hisses I could not decipher started up again, echoing through the air before a stone snake suddenly began to slither around the edge of the door, pushing the locks backward, seemingly ready to reveal whatever was guarded behind the hatchway, when, suddenly, submerging from all of those hisses, a particularly distinct voice softly slithered forward, speaking louder and clearer than the rest.

" _Delila_ _aaaa_ _h_ ," it drawled out my name.

Shudders running down my spine, I spun once more and found myself standing in an enormous chamber, roughly three times the size of a Great Hall, facing the statue of a bearded man I did not recognize. Still, however, no one else was there but me.

"Who is there?" I repeated tentatively.

"Delilaaaah... _Hawkins_ _ss_..."

This time, my body refused to turn as it stilled, stiffening with tension and anticipation, the voice leaving a bad taste in my mouth; I had not liked the fact that it knew seemed to know more than I was sure most did, greeting me with the name "Dawn"— a name I had never used for myself. And then, the way it uttered my actual last name, almost mockingly. It made it sound... _dirty_ , as though it knew something I didn't.

As though it didn't belong to me.

"Welcome."

Hands curling into fists at my side, I dropped my gaze to the wet stone floor, my body stiffening further as I caught myself before it fell into an instinctive hunch of an offensive stance. I did not know how to fight much beyond what my father had managed to teach me little before the ambush, but I knew enough, and I was stronger now— at least enough to defend myself or quickly dodge out of the way of whatever spell might fly my way; for some reason, I also didn't have my wand here with me.

Gods, why does my forgetfulness follow me into such depths?

"Who are you?"

"Why... I feel rather insulted that a member of the great House of Dawn does not appear to recognize me— after all, it is a Dawn that... _helped_ me achieve my greatness," the voice mused.

My eyes narrowed as I heard this, fists tightening as I kept myself from lashing out; I never lash out, I always think things through, and now is definitely not the time to act irrationally, especially when facing an unknown variable.

"Yes, because I would definitely recognize a person I have never met," I retorted.

The voice uttered an _elegant_ chuckle— didn't even know there was such a thing as an elegant chuckle, but apparently, there is— so soft, it almost felt like a whisper in my ear.

"Why, of course, we've met, child."

I spun around, ready to engage, but met nothing but air.

"You are a Dawn— a descendant of one of the greatest Houses of our history. A child of the _Firsts_. Just like that little... _toy_ of yours, we were always fated to cross paths. It is in our destinies. But only one of us _three_ has the choice of which side to be on."

Shudders ran down my spine as bile shot up my throat.

"The side that will fall," it whispered into my ear. "Or the side of greatness."

My jaw clenched as I stared down the long open corridor before me, pillars of snakeheads lined up along each side like guards stationed, ready to strike whoever may trespass.

"Who. Are. You?" I repeated.

A smile could practically be heard as the voice spoke again, clearer now than the hiss of a whisper it was before.

"I am the pinnacle of magical greatness. The past, present and future of this world."

That seriously does not answer my question— many idiots think they are the epitome of greatness. Seriously, just look at Napoleon, or the oh, so great Caesar, and many other imbeciles.

"I am your Lord Voldemort."

I blinked. Okay, I was not expecting _that_. " _Your_ "— _seriously_? And the _pinnacle_ of greatness?

Gods, I knew this guy was evil, but I didn't think he was also delusional.

How pitiful; the greatest dark wizard of the last two generations— the only one successful in bringing an age of darkness among our hidden community to, what— _purify_ it? And yet, he doesn't seem to realize that new magic— magic born where it's least expected is, perhaps, the purest there is; it doesn't hold any dark past, no prior darkness that might've tainted their blood.

If anything, the real _mudbloods_ are the self-proclaimed _pure_ -blooded casters, especially those born into Houses with long history of dwellings with the dark arts and racism.

"Why are you here?" Well, not technically here— but here?

... that didn't even make sense to me.

"Because you are going to join me."

 _Seriously_? Don't sound so casual about it.

"Join you? Where?"

"On my side, of course."

"Your side?"

"Yes."

"As in the dark side?"

"Ye—"

"As in Darth Vader kind of dark side?"

"Yes— wait, what?"

I absolutely _love_ confusing people.

"Nothing. As for joining you, why in the _Twelve_ would I _ever_ do that?"

"To side with me is to side with greatness." I scoffed. _Right_. "And your talent would be most... _appreciated_."

I frowned, puzzled by this. "Talent?"

"Oh, you do not know?"

I snorted. "Do you?"

"Of cou—"

"No, you do _n't_." My lips curled, almost viciously. "You only know what the world believes, and are basing your own judgement on what you suffered the night you killed my grandparents."

I turned and found myself facing a dark, hooded figure, but a few feet away from where I stood. It was a very ominous and frightening sight, but I held my ground.

"And the world is right," I brandished an ego I never knew I had. "I _am_ the most powerful witch _alive_. And considering the state you are currently in, I concur to being more powerful than even you." I took one step toward him. "But, given the facts, clearly I am not the only one who can beat you."

I knew I was right, and given his silence, he knew so too. He couldn't beat us, no matter what dirty tricks he pulled out of his sleeve.

"You think you are so great and all-knowing, and yet you do not seem to realize that without _us_ ever returning to _this_ world, you will _never_ be able to return. So, yes, I guess you are right on one account; you _need_ **_us_**."

The figure zoomed toward me, closing the distance between us as it loomed over me.

"You _will_ join me."

I bared my teeth at the ghost of a man, sneering. "Only _one_ of us three has the choice of which side to be on," I spat his own words back at him. "And you can _damn_ well be sure I will _never_ join you."

Ugh, and to think I wasted my breath on this bastard after ten-years of utter muteness.

With my final resolve, I flipped my braided hair over my shoulder and turned my back to the fallen dark wizard, stepping toward the corridor I assume would lead me out of this pit.

"You're not going anywhere," he snarled, zooming around and back in front of me. "You. _Will_ _._ Join. Me."

"You might want to rethink the way you run your recruitments because this is going... pitifully."

I levelled the fallen Lord with a glare.

"Let _'s_ put it this way; _you_ are... a _devil_ , and _I_ am a _soul guardian_ — something you will never understand. Everything you do goes against everything I stand for. Not to mention, you killed my grandparents right in front of me, _and_ my best friend's parents, and countless others."

With the bravery of a growing cub, I stood firmly in the face of an evil man who was still trying to cheat his way through _life_ with his secrets of evasion of Death.

"I would never give my _soul_ to any puny being with your delusional ideologies. I am not weak—" Not anymore. "— nor am I desperate, in the clutches of madness, to ever give in to the likes of you, so you can shove your offer right up your _fuckin'_ _ass_ , _Shitty_ mort. I am above the pettiness that comes with seeking vengeance, but I will not rest until you are dead, even if that means I will have to kill you myself."

Suddenly, he laughed, almost maniacally. "Surely you wouldn't want your precious little Potter dead? It would be entirely your fault, you know."

I sneered. "The Boy Who Lived, while you perished." I scoffed. "I do not see how you could possibly beat him, even if you tried. You are old, decaying and puny— _Seamus_ could probably beat you with an exploding spell."

I stepped around him and continued down the corridor, gaze shifting about for the exit; I was well aware by now that this was a dream if it hadn't already been so obvious by the swift change of scenery; still, I couldn't seem to wake up, so making my way out of this chamber seemed like the next best thing until I awoke.

"You wouldn't dare to leave if you had any idea of what I could do"

I scoffed. "This is _my_ dream, I can leave when I want to."

"You are not going anywhere," he repeated.

"Go to... Tartarus!" Gods, I cannot even fathom what he might've been like to others in his prime— probably why he never tried his hand at marriage, because no one would accept his. "I could care less about what powers I have, that you may desire."

"Hmm... perhaps this will change your mind, then," he mused before snarling, " _Crucio!_ "

The pain was instant with no delay, knocking me off my feet as I could no longer hold myself, the toll of it a painful reminder of my time under captivity with the Adams. While absolutely horrible and traumatizing it was to be slowly and painfully cut open, what I felt now hit a tenfold of what I constantly endured then— like white-hot knives were endlessly piercing every inch of my skin. I could barely hear myself screaming as I tried, but failed to crawl away, clinging to the last bit of light— of _life_ I could hold within my weakening grasp before I finally succumbed to darkness.

At least there's no more pain in this darkness.


	25. 11½ - Bad Dreams Go Away...

**December 11, 1980**

_"Tom_ _... please,_ _you_ _don't_ _have to_ _do this," her grandfather pleaded_.

 _"Do_ _not dictate me, and do as I say, woman!_ _" hissed an unfamiliar voice._ _"Step out of the way!"_

 _Delilah pushed herself to her_ _tiny_ _feet and wobbled her way to the railing of her crib_ _and clung to_ _it, her tears still falling as she stared at the dim light that shone through the c_ _rack_ _under the door._

_Then came her grandmother's voice. "Tom, she's just a baby—"_

_Her grandfather was cut off mid-sentence, and now, for what felt like forever, all that could be heard was but utter silence. Delilah leaned forward in anticipation; her cries had stopped, but her tears were still falling._

_The door suddenly slammed open_ _, sliding back till it remained ajar after_ _a dark_ _,_ _cloaked figure_ _had glided into the room_ _, staring at her with empty eyes._

_He raised a hand, holding a stick that looked an awful lot like a wand, and hissed, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_His words were followed by a blinding flash of green light that shaped itself into a rather frightening skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. A rushing noise followed suit, and an excruciating pain Delilah had never felt before that reached the left side of her neck_ _as she turned and lifted her tiny arms in a futile attempt at shielding herself from the blast, a high pitched cry escaping her lips as the pain swiftly became to consume her small, fragile body._

~ ♦ ~

Gone.

They were gone... but what did that mean?

_Bad dreams go away..._

Delilah's overly-developed child mind understood many things, but she could not make sense of that night.

It was quite some time ago, and her Papa and Mommy, and Aunties Nala and Nadia did quite a good job at keeping her otherwise occupied. Even Harry did his utmost to keep her attention solely on him... even though he mostly did it out stubborn self-centeredness he inherited from his father as he was still much younger than herself— far too young to understand what had occurred. Her brothers, clueless as they were about the whole ordeal, never failed to entertain her with their silly games.

However, not even the attempts her loved ones made to make her feel loved and safe could keep that night from plaguing her dreams. That following night she had discovered what hatred felt like for the first time after her refusal to sleep in a crib came to her almost instinctively.

_Bad dreams go away..._

Not even Aunt Nala's sweet, soothing songs could bring her the comfort she sought.

She had felt helpless, staring at that scary man from behind the bars of her crib. Helpless because she could do nothing, and trapped because she could not move away just yet, back then.

At the time, she had only begun feeling strength in her legs as her grandparents trained her, lolling her around in that wheely contraption she had once adored; she couldn't climb out of her crib, even if she had wanted to. There was nowhere to hide or run as she had sat bare before the scary man, his gaze all but piercing into her very soul, his eyes the same color as the light that made her grandparents collapse.

Green, she could remember the color was called.

The same green that was the color of Harry's eyes, and Aunt Lily's. The same, but... different. While theirs were a pretty bright color, like that jewel she had once seen Aunt Nadia wear— an emerald, his were dark, haunting, scary... _bad_.

_Bad dreams go away..._

She was still learning the difference between good and bad, and she still had a long way to go before she understood completely, but she knew that man was bad. She understood that what he did was bad, and perhaps even beyond that. Otherwise, her grandparents would still be well and with them right now.

A part of her wishes she could go back and have been able to do something against him, but another part of her just wishes she could forget it at all. The memory of that night was not a nice one, and it brought her an immense, inexplicable discomfort she could greatly do without.

It brought her pain.

She didn't like pain.

She wanted it gone— she _needed_ it gone.

_Bad dreams go away..._

And, for a moment, as a faint glow engulfed her, head to toe, wrapping around her small frame like a warm blanket the color of Auntie An's eyes, a sweet reminder of the sweet woman, every troubling, discomforting thought plaguing her mind was... gone. The memory of that night, the older memory of the night she was born and she'd nearly lost her light just as soon as she'd gotten it. The memory of those bad dreams that woke up her often nights— they were all gone.

But that wasn't all.

_Bad dreams go away..._

As the ethereal glow began to slowly dissipate, the door to her room was pushed open and in walked a tall man with pale skin and long dark curls, a grin stretched across his face at the sight of her.

Little Delilah was stumped with uncertainty, unsure of who this man could possibly be. A man so lively and visibly caring of her— only her father was openly acted this way toward her or her brothers.

So who was this man standing before her? This man with such a warm, familiar aura that tried to drill into the back of her mind. This drill was hammering wails into her head, trying to tell her— she knew.

She knew who this was. And yet... she didn't.

Not anymore.

The man smiled at her, black curls falling into his striking eyes as he stared back down at her, ever so warmly, a large calloused hand reaching down to gently caress her plump cheek.

This man was a stranger, no matter what her gut was trying to tell her. Still... the gentleness behind his touch could only compare to certain people.

"Hello there, my little lily-pad." Suddenly, he grimaced as he then mumbled to himself, "God, we _are_ turning into James."

Shaking his head to himself, he turned his attention back to the bundle sat in her crib, quiet as a mouse, something he found to be rather curious. She wasn't as regularly loud and boisterous as the little green bean who all but got it from his own father, but she wasn't ever as quiet as she was now.

He frowned at this, concern beginning to creep inside him. "What's wrong, babe? Did you have a bad dream?"

The dread that followed having a bad dream _did_ still linger within her, so she could guess that she had, perhaps, had a bad dream. Not that she remembered what it was, but that was not the reason she was quiet.

The man frowned, concern beginning to swell up within him as he noticed her blank stare nonce changing.

"Seriously, love, what's wrong? Is it your scar? Does it bother you?"

She had received a scar that night, a brand of a spell that was meant to kill her— a small thin scar shaped like a lightning bolt hidden beneath her bushes of curls, nestled in the crook between her left shoulder and neck.

The man was scared she was still plagued by the horrifying murder she witnessed, but he only felt himself becoming a bit more baffled at the confusion flashing in her bright-colored eyes.

Did she hit her head? Does she have a concussion that's giving her a hard time to understand? No, her eyes were focused as ever, following his every move with caution and a tinge of curiosity.

Why was his child looking at him with caution?

The man pulled away momentarily, startled by that look in her eyes, his worry only further increasing as she said nothing, nor did she show any signs of lighting up at his mere presence like she usually did. They didn't see each other as often as he'd like, but from the moment he first held her in his arms, they had shared a bond like no other.

And yet...

Why was his child suddenly looking at him as though he were some stranger?

He hesitated for a moment, brows furrowed as he stared at the unchanging look on her beautiful face, resisting a moment longer before reaching back in, the back of his hand aiming for her forehead, only to be stunned mute when she suddenly recoiled away from his touch.

For a moment, neither spoke, before her small pouty lips parted and she asked the question he never thought he would come to dread.

"... who awe you?"

The words struck him in the chest like a lightning bolt striking a tree down, his heart racing— _hammering_ in his chest as panic rose within him at an alarming rate. Eyes stricken with an immeasurably terror, the man backed away from the crib, gaze frozen at the little girl staring blankly back at him.

"ELLA?!"

Her bad dreams were gone, but it seems _he_ would now be plagued with his own _nightmares_.

**Author's Note:**

> **ATTENTION** I DO NOT OWN ANY OF J.K. ROWLING'S ORIGINAL CHARACTERS FROM THE ORIGINAL HARRY POTTER. I ONLY OWN DELILAH, HER FAMILY, AND SOME OTHER OCs.


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